


You Remind Me of a Man

by Mama_Sass



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mama_Sass/pseuds/Mama_Sass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not long after Agent Carter’s departure to assist Chief Sousa in California, Vernon Masters had walked through the doors of the SSR, shaking up Jack Thompson’s interrogation of Dottie Underwood and whisking Jack himself to Los Angeles to intercept Daniel and Peggy’s case involving the Arena Club.  From the first minute he stepped into the LA Branch, he had a subtle feeling things weren’t going to end well.  He just wasn’t sure for whom.</p><p>Along the way, he meets an ex-Navy nurse, now a lounge singer, with an interesting name and an even more interesting past, makes plenty of missteps, but ultimately figures out that being on Peggy's side is the way to go.  His journey on the right path is cut short when a mystery man comes to reclaim the pilfered "M. Carter" file.</p><p>What happens then?  Read on!!<br/> </p><p> </p><p>A slightly "lyrical" approach (check out the titles!) to Season 2, mainly from Jack's viewpoint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When You Just Smile

**Author's Note:**

> This story weaves through the middle of Season 2 and continues past Jack's encounter with the mysterious assailant who stole the M. Carter file. Because of this, I have used lines, verbatim, from the show for the first several chapters and added to that. Obviously, all credit for that which I've taken from the show goes to the Agent Carter writers!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ambition is a tricky thing. Too little, and you stagnate. Too much?.... Is there such a thing? After the events of "Life of the Party" Jack wrestles with the implications of Vernon’s Masters directive to "destroy Peggy Carter" and finds an unexpected distraction at the bar nextdoor to his hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story weaves through the middle of Season 2 and continues past Jack's encounter with the mysterious assailant who stole the M. Carter file. Because of this, I have used lines, verbatim, from the show for the first several chapters and added to that. Obviously, all credit for that which I've taken from the show goes to the Agent Carter writers!!!

**Prologue** :

Jack hung up the phone, his ear still ringing from Daniel’s lambasting him for sending Peggy, of the people he could’ve sent, to L.A. to help with the case.

“Sousa, she was available and willing to go,” Jack had said in his defense. “I may have implied that you asked for her personally, but really, I think she’s who you would have wanted to come anyway. You two work great together. I don’t see the problem here.” Daniel had sputtered a few choice words at him and ended the call while Jack just chuckled to himself.

Those two idiots needed time together, and if he benefited by having Agent Peggy Carter out of his hair for a little while, hey, it was a win-win.

However, not long after Carter’s departure, Vernon Masters had walked through the doors of the SSR, shaking up Jack’s interrogation of Dottie Underwood and whisking Jack himself to Los Angeles to intercept Daniel and Peggy’s case involving the Arena Club. From the first minute he stepped into the LA Branch, he had a subtle feeling this wasn’t going to end well. He just wasn’t sure for whom.

 

 

**Chapter 1:  When You Just Smile**

  

 

 

> _“You should smile more.”_
> 
> _“Hasn’t been much of a smiling night.”_

It still wasn’t. Alone in his hotel room after returning from Calvin Chadwick’s party, Jack found himself pacing, restless and mulling over the conversation he’d just had with Vernon Masters about how to deal with Peggy Carter’s insubordination:

            _“I need you to take her out.”_

            _“I’m not going to kill Peggy Carter…”_

            _“Who said kill?...I need you to destroy the very idea of her…”_

_“That presents a whole new set of problems…”_

_“She’s got something on you, doesn't she? It must be pretty bad though, shameful even...I tell you_ _this,_ _Jack, the only way to fight leverage is with leverage.”_

_“Dig something up on her.”_

_“Everybody's got secrets.”_

_“Carter’s a Girl Scout…”_

_“If you can’t find a way to take her down, then I have to question whether you're suited for high                           command in this government.”_

_“There’s no question, sir.”_

 

He wrestled with the idea of how best to handle Carter. On one hand, he had to admit, he had a growing, if begrudging, respect for her as an agent. On the other hand, he didn't want to disappoint a powerful man like Vernon Masters, who held open the gateway to positions of greater power and influence for him. Despite his tenuous regard for her, he believed Carter was impetuous and took too many risks for his own comfort, especially as he was her supervisor. There had to be a way to make her drop this mission she was on, whatever it was, that would satisfy Masters and nullify the need to destroy Peggy in the process. If he couldn't…he didn't even want to contemplate what he’d have to go through to find dirt on Margaret Carter.

     _Everyone has secrets._

He sighed heavily and scrubbed his hands over his face. He needed to figure out something soon, but right now, more than anything, he needed a drink, or several.

Remembering that there was small club next door to his hotel, Jack decided not to fight the draw of a strong drink and headed downstairs. He was soon sitting at the bar, whiskey in hand, and as devoid of ideas as he had been an hour earlier in his room. He downed the remnants of his drink in one large swig and frowned fiercely into the empty glass.

“The night’s too short for such a long face,” her heard a distinctly southern feminine voice say.

He looked up to see a dark-haired woman in a honey-colored evening gown standing behind the bar in front of him, drink in hand and a sympathetic expression on her face. For the second time in one night a woman remarked about him looking down and out.

“I’m sorry,” she amended quietly. “You just look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.” She leaned an elbow on the bar as she set her drink down. “If you’ve a mind to talk it out, I’m a very good listener,” she offered with a friendly smile, and Jack surprised himself by contemplating it.

“I’ve got just a short set of songs left to sing tonight. If you stick around, I’ll come back here and let you chat my ear off.” Without waiting for a response she walked away.

Why not? Jack asked himself. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, not with all these conflicting thoughts warring in his brain. Nothing wrong with sharing a drink and innocuous conversation with a pretty lady, was there? So, he watched as she sashayed her way from the bar to the stage and soon began to sing to the small audience gathered around the tables below her.

So, she was the owner of the voice he’d heard spilling out the opened doors the night before. He’d noticed the small sign outside the outer doors leading into the lounge which had advertised her as the singer, Zydeco Wells. Such an odd name, it had stuck in his memory. He ordered another drink and sat back to observe.

She was of average height and build. Soft spirals of hair that gleamed like polished mahogany framed a round, expressive face. Her skin was a rich olive tone, her eyes some dark hue he couldn’t quite make out in the dim light. But for all her dark features, she certainly seemed to glow in the spotlight.

Her most remarkable feature, he soon discovered, was her voice. Dependent of the type of song she chose, her voice flowed sweet or sultry, powerful or demure. The first song she had chosen was coincidentally one of his more recent favorites by Frank Sinatra.

As she sang “I Don’t Know Why (I Just Do)” he focused on the fluid movements of her body as she poured her soul into each note. She ended the last song of her set on an impressive high note and with a dramatic flourish of her arm.

The patrons scattered around the room broke into polite applause. Jack finished his drink and joined in.

“Thank y’all very much,” Zydeco responded in her dramatic southern accent. “Have a lovely evening.”

Jack watched as she descended the steps on the side of the stage, directly into the path of a belligerently drunk man. The jerk’s crude advances and Zydeco’s firm but increasingly impatient refusals made Jack’s jaw tense. He turned in his seat in time to see the man push his face close to hers and mutter something low and unintelligible but blatantly offensive. Zydeco reared back in disgust. Before he could think twice about it, Jack propelled himself over to them and grabbed the man by the back of his shirt collar and swung him around to confront him, nose to nose.

“You have just two options. You can apologize to the lady and walk out of here,” Jack seethed, his voice just low enough for the man to hear. “Or don’t, and I’ll have them carry you out on a stretcher. Your choice.”

The man’s mouth worked like a fish out of water for a few seconds, his eyes darting from Zydeco to Jack and back. “I’m sorry!” he whimpered. “Okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was your girl.”

“She’s not,” he snapped and released the idiot so abruptly the man staggered backwards then made a hasty exit. Jack watched him go with smug satisfaction.

“You know,” Zydeco began airily from behind him. “I could have handled that buffoon just fine on my own, Atlas.”

Jack rolled his eyes. She wasn’t even going to thank him? He managed to school his features to a neutral expression as he turned to her.

“However,” she drawled, her tone drifting unexpectedly from cool to flirtatious. “I’ll admit there was something vastly entertaining about watching you do it for me.”

The admiring sparkle in her eyes rooted him to the spot and all he could do was blink at her. Holy hell, the woman knew how to utilize a smolder to immobilize a man.  She was looking at him like a cat eyeing a bowl of cream.

“Well, now we’ve got to have that talk!” she laughed, snapping him back to attention. “Let me get you a drink for your...assistance,” she offered and started walking to the bar. She gestured for him to follow.

Jack started to object about her buying a drink for him, but she cut him off with an impatient swish of her hand. “Oh, don’t get your manly bits all in a twizzle,” she said dismissively. “I’m not buying you anything. I get a handful of drinks for free when I’m singing. I’d be happy to gift one to you.” She sat herself on a stool and patted the seat next to her. “C’mon, o’ knight in shining armor, have a drink with me, and then you can tell me all about what’s got you so downright prickly tonight.”

Jack hesitated for only a second before he took the stool she’d indicated. Hell, he _was_ prickly and irritable, and damn it, he needed another drink. He couldn’t tell her the truth of why he was feeling this way, but he was a pro at small talk. It’d be nice not to talk about work for a little while.

Zydeco called to the bartender. “Jeffrey, honey, would you please get my friend here a double of whatever he’d like? I’ll have the usual.” The bartender looked pointedly at Jack.

“Whiskey, straight up,” he answered the unspoken question.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Zydeco said as the bartender began fixing their drinks. She turned herself on the stool to face Jack more directly. “I really am very grateful for your help, Mr. ---?”

“Thompson. Jack.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jack. Zydeco Wells,” she extended her hand and Jack shook it lightly.

“That’s...unique,” Jack treaded carefully. “What’s the story there?”

A sly grin lifted the corner of her mouth. “The story I’ve always been told is that my mama was drunk silly from all the liquor my uncles gave her during labor…it was the only thing they had on hand to help her with the pain, you see.” She paused and gave him a comical quirk of her eyebrows that had his own lifting in surprise. With an appreciative laugh, she continued. “I should be relieved. I heard Tango, Waltz and Foxtrot were also being considered. So, I guess I should thank my lucky stars. Zydeco isn’t that bad, all in all.”

Jack was skeptical. “You’re joking.”

Zydeco grinned. “All true, I’m afraid...well,” she paused for effect, “except for the Foxtrot part. I mean, _that’s_ just ridiculous.” Again, Jack found himself a victim of her infectious humor.

Their drinks arrived, and Deidre paused to thank the bartender. “So, you see,” she continued after she’d taken a sip, “It’s my given name, and now I use it as a stage name, but I changed it legally the day I turned 18. And I mean, the very first minute, the very first _second_ I could, I bought myself a new name.” She took another sip of her drink and waited expectantly.

Jack squinted at her, knowing he was being baited, but couldn’t help himself. “Alright, I’ll bite. What did you change it to?”

“Deidre Abilene,” she said proudly.

"Deidre Abilene?” Jack’s eyebrows shot up appreciatively. “Fancy name. Where’d you come up with that?”

“My middle name’s the one my mama gave me, but for my first name I scoured every book I could find at the library and made a list of my favorites. It took a while to decide, but once I’d chosen one and it was official…..you know what I did?”

“What?”

“I cried,” Deidre said flatly, and smacked the bar top for effect. “Oh, lord, I wailed for a good half an hour.”

“You wha-...you cried?” Jack couldn’t stop grinning. The woman was a stitch.

“I was so scared of how my mama was going to react. You see, I’d used a good portion of my savings in order to do it, and she gave me that name. She always seemed real proud of it, too. So, once I got a hold of myself, I went home and I…well...I never told her.” She snickered at Jack’s bemused expression. “I couldn’t,” she laughed. “I was so afraid of hurting her feelings. So, there I was, living this double life, keeping this big secret. I went by Zydeco at home, and Deidre everywhere else.”

“And your friends managed not to spoil it?”

“Oh, I didn’t have to keep the secret for long,” she said with a good-natured eye roll. “Pastor’s wife spoiled it early on,” Deidre explained. “I swear, that woman has a mouth as big as the Mississippi in May.”

Jack chuckled at that, still wondering if this was all true or some tall tale she’d spun to entertain him. “Are you serious?”

“On very rare occasions,” she deadpanned, and Jack appreciated her ambiguity. He marveled at how easy it was to talk to her. Maybe that was because he knew it was just a temporary thing, no pressure, no strings. There was no angle to play with Deidre, and he allowed himself to enjoy his time with her, however long it lasted.

A short, friendly silence ensued while both of them sipped their drinks, occasionally catching each other's eye like mischievous children out on a lark.

“I’ve almost got you beat,” he said finally.

“Let’s hear it,” she said and faced him expectantly.

“Jackson Peter Fitzgerald Thompson...the Third,” he dramatically elaborated the last part with a wink. He probably shouldn’t have told her that, but what the hell...

Deidre let out a huff of surprised laughter and swatted him good-naturedly. “Now there’s a mouthful. All those names?”

“Yeah,” he assured her. “That’s my full name. Not many people know the whole list, so consider yourself one of the privileged few.”

“Well, my goodness! Such an honor!” she teased. She fanned herself and batted her eyelashes at him, which made him smile again.

Their conversation was abruptly cut short by a hotel employee walking up to them. “Miss Wells, Mr. Langston would like to speak to you as soon as possible,” he informed her.

“You can tell him I’m on my way,” Deidre replied with a dramatic eye roll that only Jack could see.

As the man departed, Deidre stood up and straightened her dress. “That’s my boss. A bit of a jerk. Best not keep him waiting.” She extended her hand, and Jack clasped it lightly. “I enjoyed our little chat, Jack.” Her eyes widened in dismay. “Gracious! I’m such a chatterbox! You never got a chance to tell me your woes.”

Jack stopped short, then gave a mental shrug. He couldn’t have told her anyway. “No woes to worry about,” he assured her. “I enjoyed the story, and the company.”

“Good,” she replied, then looked a little disconcerted when she realized he was still cradling her hand in his after a few moments. Jack cleared his throat and let her hand slip from his grasp. “Well, if you’re ever in need of another lil’ perk up, you come back and find me.”

Tempting, Jack thought, but no promises. He gave her a brief nod. “I will certainly try. Good night, Miss Wells.”

She swatted the air between them. “Oh, hush with that. You can call me Dee.” She smiled warmly at him. “Good night, Jack.”

And as quickly as she had entered his life, she walked out of it. The scent of her perfume lingered around him long after she had disappeared behind the stage curtain.

“Zydeco.” Jack murmured the name thoughtfully.

He finished his drink and walked back to his room more relaxed than he’d felt since he’d arrived in L.A. He got ready for bed, put his worries on hold, and was soon fast asleep, dreaming of a golden skinned siren with laughter in her eyes.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

Jack awoke in a generous mood.  He decided to give Carter the chance to do things the easy way, drop the case and return to New York with him.  If she would he didn't have to try to destroy her reputation as Vernon demanded.  However, not too surprisingly, his talk with her the next morning didn’t reap the desired outcome.  She refused to let go of whatever bone she’d clapped in her stubborn jaw.  

She was chasing something down a long and very dangerous path, making Vernon Masters an enemy.  She couldn’t possibly understand how big of a mistake she was making by putting her job on the line to pursue it.  She’d given him no choice but to do as Masters instructed and find something useful to use as leverage against her.  Damn it...

 


	2. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's ambition and his conscience are at war. He again seeks out the entertaining companionship of Deidre Wells and discovers common ground.

Hitting dead end after dead end all the rest of the day, Jack retreated to the club again that night.  Zydeco...no, _Deidre_ , he amended, spotted him as he walked in.  Her lips curved into a smile and her eyes followed his movement to the bar where he sat and ordered a drink.  He lifted his chin in a nod of acknowledgment.  She winked in response.

He mulled and brooded over what Vernon was demanding of him, trying to weigh the worth of what the man could offer him versus the cost of defaming one of his co-workers.  Peggy Carter was certainly a pain in his ass, but was he really willing to blackmail her?  If he could he even find anything to blackmail her with, he thought ruefully.  She really was a Girl Scout.

Vernon couldn’t fault him for trying and coming up empty-handed.  He couldn’t help it if Carter was a squeaky-clean rule follower.  There had to be a better way to handle Vernon and still get what he wanted.

“There’s that scowl again.”

He turned to the right and found Deidre sitting beside him.  He’d been so lost in his thoughts and schemes that he’d failed to notice she’d finished singing.

He gave her a half-hearted grin.  “Guess I need another story.”

Dee gave him a hard look.  “My guess is you need more than that, Atlas.  You still look like you’re stewing over a problem a mile wide and just as deep.”  She took a sip of her drink then gave him a sideways glance.  “I promise, I’ll shut up and listen this time, if you want to talk it out.”

Jack shook his head.  “Can’t really talk about it.”

“Well, that’s not helpful,” Dee replied with a frown, but kept her tone light and slightly teasing.  “You a spy or something?  Tell me, you’d have to kill me sort of thing?”

Jack straightened and glanced at her sharply.

Dee nearly choked on the alcohol she had just swallowed.  “I was joking!” she sputtered.   She gaped at him for a moment then leaned in closer, lowering her voice.  “Are _you_ joking?”  Her eyes searched his.

Jack’s answer was to ignore the question.  He turned back to his drink and tossed the contents of the glass down his throat.

“You’re _not_ joking,” Dee said slowly, her entire demeanor turning serious.  “Oh _putain_ …Well, how's that for a lucky guess?”

“I work with the SSR,” Jack said finally, not caring whether he should be sharing this information with her or not.

“The SSR?” Dee echoed, then her eyes widened in recognition.  “The Strategic Scientific Reserve.  I’ve actually heard of that, during the war," she said, pleased that he'd shared that with her. "I think I met a few of your fellow agents.”

That got his attention.  “Were you in the USO?”

Dee squinted at him, confused, then understanding washed over her.  “Oh!  No, I wasn’t singing then.  I was a nurse on the _USS Solace_.”

That surprised him into silence.  The _USS Solace_ had been one of the first active medical ships in the Pacific theater after the bombing of Pearl Harbor.  He knew it well.  Many of his injured friends had been evacuated there during the fighting on Iwo Jima.  “You’re a naval nurse?” he finally managed to ask.  

“You don’t need to sound so shocked, you know,” Dee admonished him.  “There were a lot of us.”

He gave her a considering look.  “So, this,” he gestured to their surroundings.  “This is a side job?”

Dee stilled.  “I left the profession after the war ended,” she said simply.

She didn’t elaborate, and Jack let it go.  “How long were you stationed on the _Solace_?”

“I was close to finishing my training when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor,” she answered. “I got assigned less than a month later.”

Jack blinked at that.  “You served through the entire war then.”

“Nearly.”  Dee turned to him.  “What about you?  What did you do during the war?”

“I was in the Navy as well.”  That gained him a pleasantly surprised look.  They shared more in common.  “Iwo Jima and then Okinawa.”

“Well, isn’t this a small world?  We transported a lot of the wounded at Iwo Jima and Okinawa,” she replied then halted and looked squarely at him.  “Were you ever…?”

“No,” he said quickly, answering her implied question.  “I was lucky to get through the entire thing with only a few minor injuries.”   _And one big-ass, damning secret._

Dee took a long drink. “I still have a few scars that itch at me every once in awhile.”  She tapped a finger to her temple.  “Mainly in here,” she explained, and Jack understood exactly what she meant.  

“That’s why I stopped being a nurse,” she sighed.  “Too much for too long.  I needed a change.  Singing was it.”  She turned her entire body to face him.  “How’d you get involved in the SSR?”

Jack hesitated, wondering just how much to divulge.  “I got hired soon after I was discharged,” he said, fudging a little with the timeline.  “In the New York office.”  He stopped short of telling her he was _in charge_ of the New York office as his thoughts automatically strayed to Chief Dooley, whose death at the hands of Leviathan had bumped Jack into that seat.

“So you’re here on a case then?” she asked quietly.

“Of sorts, but…”  He shrugged and shook his head.

Dee held up a hand, stopping him short.  “Yeah, this is the ‘I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ part, right?”  She gave him a small, wry smile.  “I get it.  No more questions.”

They sat in silence, passing through the awkward derailing of the conversation by sipping at their drinks and avoiding eye contact.

Eventually, Dee couldn’t help it. She refused to wallow in uneasiness.  “So, you could tell me about New York,” she ventured into a safer subject, with a hopeful tilt of her head.  “What do you like best about it?  Restaurants? Museums?  Do you root for the Yankees or the Dodgers?”

“Boston, actually,” he replied, grinning at her surprised expression that quickly crinkled into mock disgust.  

“Oh, no…we cannot possibly be friends now,” she joked. “The Red Sox?  How can you cheer for those bums?”

“I grew up in Massachusetts.  What do you expect?”  Jack laughed, getting the feeling he was about to be surprised yet again by this enigmatic woman. He gave her a shrewd appraisal. “A gal who likes baseball, huh? Who do you root for?”

“Jackie Robinson.” She smiled brightly, knowing her answer had knocked him slightly off-kilter.  “And, therefore, the Dodgers by extension.”  She leaned closer and said, “They’re going to the World Series this year, I just know it.”

Jack agreed they had a good shot at it, and they spent the next half hour deep in conversation about the ups and downs of their respective teams, debating the odds of the Dodgers making the playoffs - and the World Series, Dee insisted - as well as the idea that the Yankees, who were also playing well this season, might make the World Series a cross-town event.

“Can you imagine?  Both New York teams competing for the championship?”  Dee said wistfully.

“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Jack agreed. “Tickets would probably cost an arm and a leg, though, and sell out in one day.”

“Less than, probably,” Dee added, then she sighed, “I guess we’ll see.”

“Jack!”

Jack and Deidre turned together to see who had spoken and saw Vernon Masters walking toward them.  Jack’s stomach did a weird twist when he saw the calculating gleam in the older man’s eyes.

“Is that your father?” Dee whispered.

Jack huffed.  “No.”

“The hotel clerk thought you might have wandered over here,” Vernon said, giving Deidre a careful appraisal.  He turned to Jack, expectantly.

Jack cleared his throat and rose abruptly.  “Oh…Deidre Wells, this is Vernon Masters, my...”

“Uncle,” Vernon interjected smoothly.  "A pleasure," he added, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes as he blatantly looked her over.  His disapproval was evident.

Deidre forced herself to smile back.  “Likewise, Mr. Masters.”  She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture.  She’d encountered men like him before, the type who looked down on anyone who wasn’t clearly deemed worthwhile, which in her experience meant lily white and wealthy.  The man made her skin crawl just looking at him.  “Your nephew and I were just discussing baseball.  Are you a fan of the sport?”

Jack glanced at her.  She was as smooth and calm as could be, but alert to the thinly veiled displeasure Vernon was holding in check.

“Not really,” he said dismissively.  He turned to Jack.  “There’s been a...development…”  He eyed Deidre and cleared his throat.  “Perhaps we could discuss it back in your hotel room?”

Deidre raised an eyebrow at Jack, who shook his head slightly in silent apology. 

She brightened abruptly and gave a loud yawn that had both men staring at her.  “Well, lands sakes!  It’s gotten so late!” she said a tone that exaggerated her drawl. “I’d best be getting home.  I had a lovely time... _again_ ,” she emphasized.  She turned to face Vernon.  “And it was a genuine _pleasure_ to meet you, sir.”  As she turned to go, she glanced up and held Jack’s gaze for a long moment. “Take care, Jack,” she murmured, then walked back to the bar, grabbed her drink and headed backstage.

 

Vernon observed the woman’s departure with heavy disapproval.  Clearly Jack hadn’t been completely focused on his assignment to deal with the thorn in his side, the problematic Agent Carter, if he'd been wasting time cavorting with some no-account lounge singer.  With one warning look at Jack, he turned and exited the room.  Jack followed, grinding his teeth at being treated like a dog expected to heal on command.  More and more, he doubted that Vernon's dictates were the right ones to heed.

"I have to say, I'm a bit disappointed with you, Jack," he admonished once they'd returned to Jack's hotel room.  "Here I thought you were taking my advice seriously to once and for all get Agent Carter off this case, by whatever means necessary. You're making me have serious doubts that you're fully invested in doing what needs to be done."

"I am and I have been," Jack shot back defensively.

"And yet, I find you gallivanting the night away with some barfly floozy instead of doing your job," Vernon accused, his eyes hot with indignation. "On multiple occasions, apparently."

Jack flushed in anger at the rebuke, but he kept his mouth shut.

Vernon stared him down, waiting to see if Jack had the audacity to argue or defend himself.  He could see that his comments had hit their intended target and was pleased when Jack remained silent.

"Luckily for you, I've been able to track down a lead that just might provide the leverage we need to break Carter away from her ill-conceived mission against the Arena Club," he informed the younger man.  "I had one of our agents contact the MI-6 office in London."  He leveled his gaze and asked, "If I'm not mistaken, one of your college chums works in that office, does he not?"

It took a moment to engage the memory, but Jack did finally recall the man he was talking about. "Nelson," he affirmed.  "Craig Nelson."

"That's right," Vernon smiled grimly.  "Agent Nelson was encouraged to assist us in finding files on Margaret Carter from her S.O.E. years during the war.  I’m certain it won't take long to locate something that might be of use, but I want _you_ to go in person to get it.  You leave for Vauxhall in two hours."

Jack blinked in surprise at that.  "London?"

Vernon raised his eyebrows at him. "Nelson plans to meet you outside the MI-6 headquarters building, under the guise of meeting up with an old friend and going out for a few drinks."  He gave Jack a dry look.  "That shouldn't be an issue for you.  Try not to get too lit that you both forget what you're there for.  Make sure you get what we need."

The condescending tone had Jack's blood boiling again.  He turned his back on Vernon and stalked to the bathroom to gather up a few of his personal items he'd left on the ledge of the sink.  He stuffed them into his toiletry bag with agitated motions, trying his best to keep his aggravated mumblings to himself.

He stepped out of the bathroom just as Vernon was heading to the door.  He pulled out an airline ticket and handed it to Jack with a smirk.  "No need to thank me, Jackie Boy," he said lightly but his expression was as dark as the night sky outside the window of the room.  "Just don't screw this up. Are we clear?"

Jack stopped short and bit down hard as he stared at the man's smug face.  He snatched the ticket out of Vernon's hand.

"Crystal, sir."

Vernon's expression slithered into a counterfeit smile.  "See you in a couple days, Agent Thompson.  I'll get things here back on track while you're away."

Jack stood stock still until the door clicked shut behind Masters. He cursed under his breath as he walked to the closet and grabbed the handle of his suitcase.  It didn't take long to gather a few changes of clothes and fill the case with what he'd need for the next 48 hours.  Soon he was downstairs in the hotel lobby, notifying the front desk of his short-term absence.  The concierge assured him all would be as it was left when Jack returned.

In less than a minute, Jack had hailed a cab and was on his way to the airport.  In his haste, he was completely unaware that Deidre was standing outside the club watching the vehicle disappear down the road. She highly doubted that she'd ever see him again.


	3. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Los Angeles to London and back again, Jack's been hard at work doing Vernon's bidding, but the longer he follows this particular piper the more uneasy he feels. The S.O.E. file information certainly seems like enough damning evidence to sway Peggy Carter away from pursuing the Isodyne case, but is it really? Jack is left with more questions than answers, and he can't shake the feeling that perhaps he's on the wrong side of the playing field.

A couple evenings later, after he’d arrived back in LA from his trip to London, Jack headed out the front doors of the hotel, on his way to confront Peggy Carter with his newly-found blackmail. He hurried over to the taxi that had just pulled up to the curb and unexpectedly came face to face with Deidre when he opened the back door.

Dee’s face lit up when she saw him, and it felt like a punch to his gut.   _When was the last time anyone smiled that brightly when they saw him?_

“Well, hey there, Jack!” she exclaimed as she climbed out.  Her smile morphed quickly into a teasing pout.  “I thought you and ‘Uncle Vern’ might have headed home since we last parted ways.”

“No,” he assured her quickly.  “I just had a little business to deal with out of town.”  He clasped the S.O.E. file awkwardly in his hand, and suddenly the truth of what he’d really been up to the last couple of days weighed heavily on his chest.  Of course he couldn’t tell her about any of it.  Instead, he gestured at the evening dress she wore and stated the obvious. “Heading to work, looks like.”

She shrugged. "No rest for wicked."  She gestured at the club.  "You got time to stop in later?  I’ll be done around eleven if you want to have a drink with me.”

As much as he would have loved to do that, he couldn't promise anything. He had no idea how Peggy would react to his blackmail attempt, or so he told himself.  If he was going to be honest, he knew exactly what the outcome would be.  And if by some crazy chance the blackmail threat worked, he’d be heading straight back to New York tomorrow.

“My night’s a bit full,” he said hesitantly.  “Maybe tomorrow.”  And if he left before that, he vowed to at least leave her a note at the bar before heading to the airport.  It just seemed like the decent thing to do.

Dee’s smile faded infinitesimally.  Atlas had returned with all his woes in full force, but apparently he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, or more likely, Mr. SSR _couldn't_ talk about what he’d been up to lately.  

“All right.  Well then, I'll hopefully see you tomorrow.  And, if I don't...”  She shrugged as if it didn't matter one way or the other.  It didn't fool either of them.  Her eyes searched his for a moment as if contemplating saying something important, but then she sighed and bent her lips into a smile.  "You take care."

Jack gave her a small nod and watched again as she walked away from him then disappeared into the club.  Why she had captured his attention so thoroughly he couldn’t quite figure out, and that didn't sit well with him.  Whatever this was between them wasn't meant to be anything but a temporary friendship after all.  His burgeoning dissatisfaction with that arrangement was getting tangled up with the unsettled feeling he’d been experiencing since he’d gotten involved with Vernon, his increasing suspicion that the man wasn’t after Peggy for the reasons he claimed to be, and his own personal ambitions.  

Another evening talking and enjoying a drink with Dee was a much more attractive prospect than this dirty business involving Carter, but he knew Vernon was expecting him at the SSR office, waiting for him to report in once Jack confronted Peggy with the file.   _Duty before pleasure_ , he chided himself.  He had to do what he had to do.  He was in too deep at this point to pull back now.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jack surprised Peggy at Howard’s house, threatening to use this supposed blackmail if she wouldn't drop the Isodyne case and follow him meekly back to New York.  Peggy perused the information within the S.O.E. folder then looked up at Jack again, righteous indignation shining in her eyes.

“Who put you up to this?  Is it Vernon Masters?”  
  
Jack held out the packet that contained her plane ticket.  “All you need to worry about is what’s in that file,” he said, tired of arguing with her.  
  
“And you never thought to question the convenience?  Vernon asked you to discredit me, and you locate the ideal report….whatever this is, it's a forgery.”  She threw the file at his feet.  
  
Jack bristled. “I'm not falling for your slick talk.”  
  
“But you're falling for _his_ ,” Peggy retorted.  “You’re willing to believe any phlegm Vernon coughs up onto the pavement because you're worried that I would betray your trust.” Her eyes were earnest as she added, “I wouldn't.”  
  
He almost believed her, but he couldn't afford to be swayed by sentiment.  He stubbornly bent down to retrieve the file and held it out to her again, one last opportunity to save her career, and possibly her life.  Who knew what Masters would do if this didn't work?  
  
“This is your choice, not mine,” he warned, as though he could absolve himself from her fate.  
  
Peggy stopped just short of rolling her eyes. She knew Jack’s ambitious side better than anyone except for maybe Daniel.  As annoying and self-serving as it could be, it was also what made Jack the confident, successful agent that he’d become.  So, she spoke the truth as genuinely and empathetically as she could muster.    
  
“Chief Thompson,” she reasoned, her tone softening slightly. “You don't need to cut corners to get ahead.” She lifted her chin and nearly smiled. “You're better than that.”  
  
With her point sufficiently made, she turned on her heel and strode away, leaving Jack feeling more unsure and suspicious of Vernon Masters’ plan than ever before.    
  
Alone in the large room, Jack contemplated the file in his hand.  Carter certainly gave him a pile of information to consider.  She seemed extremely adamant that the file he had garnered from his friend in London was a forgery, and she made a good solid point about it being so easily found and placed in his hands.  His intuition tingled, giving him a strong premonition that she was right and he’d been played for a fool.  Had Vernon somehow pulled his strings and gotten someone on the MI-6 payroll to forge something like that?  Was that even possible?  He considered the file again.  It certainly looked authentic enough.  Swearing under his breath, he strode toward the phone to call a cab.  There was one way to find out, he knew, and that was to present the file to Vernon, share his doubts and gauge his reaction to it.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

“Great work, Jack,” Vernon said as he scanned the redacted file. “Above and beyond.”  
  
They were back in Daniel’s office, and Jack paced as his mind raced through all the details he could think of regarding this fruitless mission to take down Carter, and now Daniel as well, apparently.  
  
Jack gave him a half-hearted smile. “Thanks.”  He took a deep breath, followed his instincts, and dove into dangerous waters.  
  
“I’ve got to tell ya,” he began with a shake of his head.  “I'm starting to question the validity of that file.  I mean...it's just a little too good to be true.”  He held Vernon’s gaze, waiting to see if he’d take the bait.  
  
“Jack, what's happened and what’s true are two different things,” Vernon stated simply.  He picked up the file and tapped it. “Now, this is an official document.  That means it's true regardless of what happened.” He threw him a condescending look.  “Do I really need to be telling you this?” he asked as though reprimanding a negligent student.    
  
Jack squelched the urge to reach over the desk, grab good 'ol "Uncle Vern" by the tie, and tell him where to shove his condescension, but he resisted.  He was so sick of being manipulated.  No high-ranking political position was worth having to swallow the crap Masters was trying to force feed him, especially now that he recognized it for what it was.  Red flags were popping up all over the place in his mind, his true course becoming clearer.    
  
And, son of a bitch, if he didn’t once again have Agent Margaret Carter to thank for pointing him in the right direction...    
  
“No.  Sir, I understand that,” Jack replied, carefully keeping his tone level.  He leaned on the desk, bringing his face closer to Vernon’s as he prepared to challenge the man’s lies.  “Still, my gut is telling me that Peggy Carter--”  
  
His confrontation was abruptly derailed by a knock on the door followed by an agent entering to inform Vernon of an urgent call for him on Line 1.  Masters rolled his eyes dismissively, but the man persisted.  
  
“Sir, she knew your access code,” he emphasized.    
  
That stirred Jack’s suspicion and spurred Vernon into action.  Masters nervously cleared his throat as he picked up the phone receiver and held it to his ear.  “Vernon Masters,” he announced, then as the woman on the other end of the line apparently began to speak, he covered the speaker with one hand. “Jack, could you give me a minute?  And, uh, close the door on your way out?” he asked with a tight smile and a casual wink.  
  
Jack departed like the obedient lackey he was supposed to be, but after he shut the office door with a pronounced click, he scanned the Bullpen to see if there were any agents around.  Finding none, he walked over to an empty desk and carefully lifted the receiver of the phone to intercept the conversation.  He connected the line with the press of a button and heard Vernon's self-assured voice.

“Well then, I'll retrieve them at once.”

The woman on the other end of the line scoffed, “Spoken like someone pretending he had a choice. I'll need you to bring them directly to me.”

Eventually Jack surmised that the items being discussed were the uranium rods Carter and Sousa had stolen from the Roxxon facility.  Apparently they had been stashed in the SSR wall safe downstairs in the lab.

Jack carefully replaced the receiver and, after considering his next step, hurried quietly out of the Bullpen and down the stairs.

He waited in a dark corner of the lab, and soon enough Vernon Masters entered and walked over to the periodic table on the far wall.  As expected, he swung the frame outward and moved to start unlocking the safe when Jack made his move.

“Vernon,” Jack called, stepping out of the shadows as the man turned to face him.  He noted the surprise in Masters’ beady eyes.

“Jack,” Vernon replied, his surprised tone morphing into a strained irritation. “Now’s not a good time.  Wait for me in my office, will you?”

Jack held his ground.  “I won't let you do this.”

Irritation and impatience permeated Vernon’s expression as he slowly swung the periodic table frame back over the wall safe.  He gave Jack a long, appraising look.

“Jack, I owe you a sincere apology.  I underestimated you.”  He walked toward Jack.  “You were right to call me on it…”

Jack wouldn’t be fooled by his placating words again.  “I can't let you take them, Vernon.”

Masters continued as if Jack hadn't spoken at all.  “Looks like you're going to be getting that promotion a li--.”  

Vernon kept advancing toward him with determined strides, and Jack quickly backed away and uncovered the gun holstered above his right hip.

“Stop!” he warned.  “Right there.”

Vernon halted on the spot, eyeing the weapon then Jack with a mixture of alarm and disappointment.  He glanced down and away before bringing his gaze back to Jack’s face.

“Well,” he sighed, sounding defeated. “You have no idea how sorry I am to hear that.”  His face fell suddenly. “But perhaps it wasn't just you I underestimated,” he said slowly.  He sighed, turned away and placed his hands on the work table nearest to them.

Jack reflexively tensed as the seconds ticked by, but then the older man’s shoulders slumped as though the knowledge of his eminent defeat had finally sunk in.

“That woman, the one from the bar,” he began as he turned back around, his eyes alight with malice.  He rolled his shoulders back and clasped his hands behind his back.

Jack knit his brow in confusion.  “Deidre?”  What the hell did she have to do with anything?

“Ah, yes, the talented Miss Wells.”

Jack squinted at him.  His jaw tensed visibly and his blood began to thrum in his temples. “What about her?”

Vernon chuckled at him but there was no humor in it.  “I did a background check on her while you were off slurring your way through the streets of London.”  He took a small challenging step forward. “You really ought to pick better friends than a disreputable Louisiana swamp rat, Jackie boy.  Murky beginnings, a felon...jail time for assaulting a minor,” he expounded, nastily.  His serpentine smile spread as he watched confusion and denial take over Jack’s features. “Why, she could be a communist spy for all we know.  She has Cuban connections," he added pointedly, as if that made his argument valid in and of itself.  "She’s probably been lying to you the whole time, trying to extract SSR information in order to--”  
  
“No!” Jack finally snapped. "You're lying," he challenged him.  There was no reason for him to drag Dee into this.  
  
Vernon had the audacity to look smug. "Maybe I am and maybe I'm not, but you can't say you know her well enough to be that sure, now can you?”  

The point about not knowing Deidre well enough _was_ true, but every fiber of Jack's body rejected Vernon’s paranoid accusations.  His hands fisted at his sides.

Vernon lifted his chin and eyed Jack with a look very close to pity.  “Women like her are sly, Jack . Of course, with the, uh, considerable ‘charms’ she possesses…” He emitted a bark of cruel laughter at Jack’s dark glare.  “I’m sure she rewarded you richly for whatever information she was able to... _pump_ ...out of you," he sneered then leaned in as if confiding something important.  "Hell, I’ve got a few minor secrets I could share.  I might be able to get a little action myself.”  
  
The degrading onslaught had the desired result.  Jack’s temper snapped, and he lunged forward.  Giving in to his earlier temptation, he grabbed Vernon by the tie and dragged him upward until they were nearly nose to nose.

“Touch her, and I will _end_ you,” Jack growled, baring his teeth.

Instead of looking alarmed, Vernon’s eyes narrowed.  “Such a waste of potential,” he asked, blatantly taunting him.  “You’d risk your future career for a traitorous, conniving Commie whore?”

Jack’s vision went red before he could register the fact that he'd let himself fall directly into Vernon's snare.  “You miserable piece of…”  He let go of the tie and stepped back, preparing to punch the bastard in the face.

He never got to finish.  In a blur of motion Vernon’s hands whipped out from behind his back and pressed two metal objects against both of his temples.  His body convulsed as the device went off, jolts of electricity shooting through his brain.  

And then the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big Thank You to my friend and fellow Agent Carter fan, Frannie, for her editing and constant support and encouragement!!


	4. Secret Agent Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is finally on the right side of things....or is he?

Jack opened his eyes then shut them again quickly, wincing at the pain ricocheting between his temples.  He lay still for a moment until the stabbing sensation eased then sat up gingerly.  

Gauging his surroundings, he quickly realized he was in the middle of the SSR laboratory, alone and in the dark.  How he'd gotten there was a huge blank in his mind, as was the reason why he was there, lying passed out on the floor no less.  
  
He hoisted himself up, grabbing the edge of the nearest work table for stability, and looked around.  His brain still felt like it was riding a tilt-a-whirl inside his skull.  He took a few steps and tried his best to remember what he'd been doing before he apparently blacked out.  Slowly, he fixed on something.  He'd been upstairs in the Bullpen, hadn't he?  But what he'd been doing there was still a jumbled up mess.  He checked his holster and saw, relieved, that his gun was still secured there.  His wallet and SSR badge were still accounted for as well.  The only thing stolen, apparently, was a sizable chunk of his recent memory.   _How the hell did that happen_? he wondered.  
  
He was still bleary and confused when the door of the lab opened.  
  
"Jack?" he heard Peggy ask.  "What are you doing here?"  
  
He turned slowly and tried again to figure out the answer to that plaguing question.  Still, nothing.  "I don't know."  
  
Peggy gave him a dubious look as Daniel walked past her and began to search the room.  "Why are you in the lab?" she asked.  
  
"Not sure."  Jack lifted a hand to the persisting throb in his temple and tried commanding his brain to recall the missing information, but it refused to cooperate.  He cleared his throat and focused on the last memory hovering beyond the void.  "I was up in the Bullpen...and now I'm here."  
  
Sousa swore and bent down, picking something up from the floor.  He straightened and brought what he'd found to Peggy.  "Look," he said grimly.  It was Samberly's memory inhibitor.  
  
He and Peggy shared a look of chagrin as Peggy took the instrument from him.  She showed it to Jack.  "Chief Thompson, someone used this device to give you amnesia.  Do you have any memory of who?"  
  
The phrase " _commie whore_ " unexpectedly rocketed through his mind. In his muddled state, he thought for a split second that Peggy had actually spoken the words.  Jack looked at her with confused aversion.  "Excuse me?" he demanded, even though he knew the idea of Peggy saying such a thing was absolutely outrageous. The fact that such a phrase had been in his head stumped him as did the accompanying sensation of wanting to punch something... _hard_.  
  
Daniel, in the meantime, had gone to check the wall safe.  He turned back to the others and announced, "The uranium is gone."  
  
Peggy tried again.  "Jack, this is of the utmost importance. What is the last thing you remember?"

He thought hard and latched onto the image he’d recalled a minute earlier - the Bullpen. Yes, he had walked to a desk...to use the phone? The memory was still hazy, but it was the clearest image he had.  "I was on the phone," he answered slowly.  
  
He pushed away from the work table and led them back upstairs to the Bullpen to investigate.  He eyed the different desks as he walked past until he felt a distinct pull on his memory. Bending over the third desk in the row, he began searching for clues as to what he'd been doing there.  
  
"Who were you talking to?" Daniel asked.  
  
Jack shook his head.  His memory recall was thankfully gaining momentum.  "I wasn't talking.  I was listening..."  He continued to search the items on the desk.  "To Vernon and a woman."  
  
Peggy ripped off a piece of paper from a notepad and angled it at him.  "Is this your handwriting?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Daniel studied the writing as well.  "Those are coordinates."  
  
"To Whitney Frost," Peggy hypothesized.  
  
Jack scowled then looked quizzically first at Daniel then Peggy. "The _actress_ , Whitney Frost?  What --"  
  
Peggy cut him off.  "A long story for a later time," she said, impatiently. "Right now we need to figure out where these coordinates lead and stop her from using those rods."

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
Jack knew Peggy and Daniel weren't at all keen on him joining their recovery mission, and part of him didn't blame them at all.  He _had_ just tried to blackmail Peggy, after all.  But, as they had prepared their supplies and weapons, more of his memories had clicked back into place, and Jack wasn't about to be left behind.

The three of them were quite certain Vernon Masters had attacked Jack with the memory inhibitor, a fact that had Jack silently raging.   He kept wondering just how Vernon had managed to get the drop on him.  Peggy suggested that Vernon had verbally distracted him, most likely wound Jack’s temper up like a clock gear, which would explain Jack’s residual anger, she theorized.  He never could have physically overpowered Jack otherwise, could he?  

Jack mulled that over while he gathered and prepped guns.  He made it perfectly clear to Peggy when she questioned his involvement that because of Masters’ treachery against him he was now firmly on her and Daniel’s side.  He didn't add, however, that if the opportunity presented itself, he wouldn't hesitate to exact whatever revenge he could against his former mentor.  

As he walked out of Daniel's office and headed for the stairs ready to get going, his swiss-cheesed mind was already swirling with devious visions of knocking Vernon to the ground and other deplorable yet mightily satisfying ways of making the man wish he'd never picked up that memory wiper device.  Along with those visions came an unbidden thought about Deidre, wondering if she was okay.

Jack frowned.  Why was he worried about her?  They’d crossed paths earlier that evening, he remembered.  She’d gone to work.  Of course she was okay, he tried to convince himself.  But a constant niggling in the back of his mind told him that something was not quite right.   _Why_ was a mystery.  Then a thought struck him.  Had Vernon used Deidre to threaten him, wind him up and distract him?  Was he _that_ paranoid?

 _Commie whore._  
  
There was that phrase again, echoing in the recesses of his mind.  It sounded like something Vernon would say.  And if he had been attacking Deidre’s character, had that wound Jack up enough to lose focus and give Masters the opportunity he’d needed?  If he’d threatened her safety...or anything else…  What if--  
  
He shook his head to scatter that particular train of thought before his blood began to boil again.  Dee was _fine,_  he told himself again.  But despite his best efforts to not think about it, a part of him still itched to call the club and check on her.    
  
_Yo, Romeo!_ He could hear Roger Dooley’s voice clearly in his head.   
  
Jack smiled plaintively.  God, how he missed his old boss.  He wished, for what felt like the hundredth time since they'd lost him to Dr. Ivchenko's plot and Howard Stark's disastrous invention, that Dooley were still alive so Jack could ask him for advice.  At the moment, Jack figured ruefully, Chief probably would have kicked his sorry butt from here to Pokipsy for getting himself ass-deep in Vernon's muck.  
  
_Get your head back in the game!_ Dooley’s ghost ordered him _. This is no time to go all soft over some skirt!_  
  
_Yes, Chief._  
  
Forcing himself to regain his focus, he realized he was alone on the staircase.  Peggy and Daniel hadn’t followed him down.  Impatient to avenge himself, Jack loped back up the stairs to the Bullpen where he immediately zoned in on the bickering coming from Daniel’s office.    
  
From what he was hearing, they were currently facing off with each other over their recent encounter with that Isodyne doctor, Jason Wilkes, who had apparently threatened Peggy’s life in exchange for the location of the uranium rods.  Daniel, of course, had ruffled Carter’s feminist feathers by caving in and sacrificing the information to save her.

“So, if the situation were reversed,” Daniel was inquiring, sounding just a bit cocky.  “That’s what you would have done?  Let him shoot me?”

Peggy’s silence had Jack rolling his eyes.  How blind could these two be?

Annoyed with their ongoing “not-quite-but-we-should-be” lovers’ quarrel, he swung himself around the doorframe and interjected himself into the conversation.

“If it makes a difference, I’d have let him blow you both away,” he deadpanned then shot them both a stern look and headed back out.  “Let’s go!”

The interruption had garnered satisfying eyerolls from both of his fellow agents and successfully spurred them beyond their verbal tussle and out the door.  Jack couldn't wait to get his hands on Vernon Masters.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They were too late.  Jack, Peggy, Daniel, Jarvis and Dr. Samberly were closing in on Vernon and Whitney Frost, using the coordinates Jack had written down, when a enormous blast shook the ground.  The explosion created a billowing dust cloud that quickly engulfed their vehicles.

When the thick brown blanket dissipated they all stared, mouths agape, at the giant black fissure that had appeared in the sky above the blast point.

“What the hell is _that_?” Jack asked, nervously, not sure he really wanted to know.

Dr. Samberly immediately spouted some overly technical explanation about dimensional rifts and extraterrestrial dark matter that made Jack’s brain begin to throb again.

“Great big alien rip in the sky,” Jack summarized flatly then tried to muster a cocky expression.  “Just another day in the SSR, huh, guys?”

The three men exchanged apprehensive looks.

The CB radio crackled, and Peggy instructed them to stop and unload the gamma canon on the high ridge just ahead.  They’d have a clear shot at closing the undulating obsidian rift from there, _IF_ Stark’s device worked as it was supposed to.  Samberly seemed to be the only person who had a clue how to use the monstrosity, a fact that Jack quickly discerned wasn't a boon toward the success of their endeavor.  The man was an edgy, awkward egghead who rambled about like he was never one hundred percent comfortable inside his own skin.

Things went even further off-kilter when Mr. Jarvis went off his rocker about the possibility of Whitney Frost escaping while they set up the cannon and suddenly bolted for Mr. Starks’ convertible.  Disregarding Peggy’s orders to stop, Jarvis sped away.

Agitated beyond measure at her friend's reckless behavior, Peggy snapped at the others.  “Just shoot the thing, for God’s sake, and I will try to prevent him from killing himself.”  She stormed toward the van and was soon motoring off in pursuit, leaving Daniel, Jack and a very flustered Samberly behind.

“Chief! Chief?” the scientist sputtered, watching the car disappear.  “What do we do?”

“Do as Peggy says!” Daniel and Jack shouted together in rare but perfect agreement.

And that's exactly what they did.  Quickly, but with a great deal of anxious cautioning by Samberly, they maneuvered the cannon to target the rift precisely - they only had one shot at closing it - and prepared to fire.

“Safety first, boys!” Samberly shouted, and all three donned their protective glasses.  At least, Jack hoped the meager coverings would suffice.  No one had ever used such a device before, after all.  It might vaporize them if it backfired.  Safety glasses wouldn't protect against _that_.

Daniel flipped the detonation switch with the end of his crutch and a powerful surge of gamma radiation rocketed toward the rip in the sky.  It hit the anomaly dead center, and after a quick, blinding flash, each of the men let out a loud cheer.  

The invention had worked perfectly.  The rift was gone.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After that small victory, things went from good to worrisome to downright dangerous, all in the span of two hours.

Peggy and Jarvis hadn’t returned with either vehicle, which left the three men standing high and dry (and decidedly parched and baking) in the middle of the Mojave.  They’d waited for over an hour, scanning the distance with the binoculars Sousa had brought with them in the van but seeing nothing but the same dried brush and tumbleweeds.  

To make an awful situation even worse, when they did spot a car heading toward them, their relief quickly turned to foreboding when Jack announced it was Vega and Blackwell, SSR agents loyal to Vernon.  This was no rescue, Jack knew.  This was retribution.  Vernon had almost certainly ordered his men to execute him and Daniel and Samberly.

He met Daniel’s heart-sick gaze and shook his head.  “Doesn't mean they took her out, Daniel.  Keep it together.”  He raised a questioning eyebrow, his question clear: _Can you do that?_

Daniel’s jaw tensed.  He nodded then turned and began to study their surroundings.

“There’s no place to take cover,” he observed after a few seconds but kept scanning the area around him, searching for a solution.  “We can't outrun them.”

“What do we do?” Samberly fretted, staring despondently at the approaching vehicle.

Jack’s mind raced until he latched onto what he knew would be an unpopular idea.  Daniel would have to trust him with his life to make the scenario look convincing, and Jack knew that trust was practically non-existent right now.  Still, when Jack explained his plan, Daniel reluctantly agreed to play his part.  What other choice did he have?  It was literally do or die at this point.

By the time the car rolled to a stop and Blackwell and Vega got out of the car, Jack was on his knees with his hands up behind his head.  Daniel and Samberly had their guns trained on him.  They called to the newcomers, requesting backup.  As suspected, the two shady agents pulled their guns out and aimed at Daniel and Samberly instead.

It took a high level of effort and finesse, but Jack used his infamous silver tongue to talk his way free of Vernon’s assassination orders and convinced the rogue agents to take him, Sousa and Samberly back to the SSR office, alive.  

As he passed Daniel, Jack sucker punched him in the gut.  For insurance, he reasoned with himself, to make the situation more believable.  He hoped Daniel would survive this botched mission long enough to pay him back.  

With mental fingers crossed, Jack climbed in the back of the car and let himself be chauffeured back to civilization by Vernon’s lackeys.  He couldn't wait to throw that victory in the bastard’s face.  But Jack knew the act was far from over.  He still had to face off with Vernon directly and buy himself some more time.

Wedged next to Daniel, who kept glaring at him while holding his tender midsection, Jack leaned back against the car seat, closed his eyes and began plotting out the rest of his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I offer up a big Thank You to my friend and fellow Agent Carter fan, Frannie, for her editing and constant support and encouragement!!


	5. A Matter of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's out for revenge, but will his ambitions be his downfall?

Vega wasted no time throwing Sousa and Samberly into the brink once they arrived back at the SSR office.  Jack was left to sit outside the cell, though closely guarded.  Vernon Masters had yet to confront them, but Jack had no doubt that he had been made aware of Vega and Blackwell’s return.

Sure enough, Vernon walked in about ten minutes later, surveying the room with gritted teeth.

Jack forced himself to keep his eyes averted and pressed a finger to his lips to keep them in line.  He was taking a big risk.  His life as well as Sousa’s and Samberly’s were riding on how well Jack could play his hand.  First, he had to see what Masters would do.

“Agent Vega,” Vernon inquired with a great amount of annoyance.  “Would you care to explain why these men are not in a shallow grave back in the desert?”

Vega stiffened.  “We were acting under Chief Thompson’s orders, sir.”

“Is that a fact?”  Vernon leveled his gaze at Jack.

 _Show time_ , Jack thought.  

“That device you have in your lock-up, the one that shut down that rift?” he began calmly, finally turning to face the older man.  “It’s called a gamma cannon.”  He motioned to Daniel and Samberly.  “These two can repair it.”

“The hell we will!” Daniel growled.

Samberly intervened quickly.  “Ssssshhh…let's hear the man out.”

Masters, still certain he held the upper hand, scoffed at that. “I believe that Whitney Frost is quite capable of figuring out a way to fix that contraption.”

“But then,” Jack said craftily, “you won't be able to _use_ it on her.”

As Jack hoped, that concept gave Vernon pause and Sousa remained silent.

After a long moment of consideration, Vernon dismissed Vega.  When the door shut behind him, he turned back to Jack, expectantly.  

“Alright, I'm listening.”

Jack was mentally rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.  Outwardly, his expression remained calm and focused.

“We fix the cannon,” he stated simply.  “We bring Frost the cannon, and then we fire it at her pretty, blonde head and restore some order.”

Vernon considered the plan then turned and nodded toward Daniel.  “What about Andy Hardy over here?  Is he going to be willing to fall in line with this scheme? How do I know he won’t come after me?”

“With what?  He’s got nothing on you,” Jack reassured him.  “And even a jerk on his high horse can come off it...when his career’s on the line.”  He grinned devilishly.  “He likes being the boss.  Don't you, Sousa?”

Daniel pressed his lips together in a show of frustration before confronting Vernon again.“Whitney Frost is too dangerous to have running around,” he said.  “We take her down, I'll stay quiet.”

“Hi, I'm Dr. Samberly,” the awkward man interjected with a wave.  “I-I just want you to know that you can absolutely count on me, sir.  I’m on your side, 110%.”

Jack almost smiled.  The oddball egghead was growing on him, and Daniel had nailed his role as a reluctant accomplice.  His plan was going as smoothly as he could have hoped.  Now, he had to play his biggest bluff.  

“Look, Vernon, either way, I’m with you,” he pandered.  “We can deal with Frost.  Or, you say the word, I’ll take care of these guys myself.”

A few tense seconds later, Vernon sighed.  “Okay, we'll do it your way, Jack.  It's the smart plan.”  He shot a smug look at Daniel and Samberly.  “Congratulations, boys.  Now get to work.”

With a final warning look at Jack, Masters left the room.

“Well, that went as well as could be expected,” Jack said as he unlocked the cell door and handed Daniel his crutch.

Daniel gave Jack another grumpy glare.  “I’m still not sure why you had to punch me back there in the desert.”

Jack pretended to contemplate an apology, then merely shrugged.  “I had to sell it, Sousa.”

“Yeah,” Daniel huffed as he headed toward the door.

Jack grinned.  He made a mental note to treat Daniel to several drinks when this mess was over.  He’d more than earned it.

\-----------------------------

Some time later, Jack and Daniel had to scramble to intercept Peggy Carter as they heard her yelling at Vernon Masters.  She, and hopefully Jarvis as well, had returned safely from their adventures in the desert.  And now, she was apparently pummeling the tar out of Vernon Masters if his cries of shock and pain were any indication.  

Daniel outran Jack, an impressive feat for a guy with a wooden leg and a crutch.  But then again, Jack figured, it really wasn't a surprise.  The utter relief knowing his lady love was safe, alive and -- from the sound of it -- kicking Vernon’s ass, apparently gave the guy wings on his feet.

“Where are they?” they heard Peggy yell amidst the sound of her fist connecting with Vernon’s face and the resulting groans.  “What have you done with Chief Sousa?  Where is Chief Thompson?”

Daniel rushed into his office and grabbed Peggy by the wrist before she could land another punch.  “Peggy, Peggy, Peg…easy, easy, easy…”  He pulled her away and drank in the sight of her, safe and sound.

“What?” she stammered, clearly confused.  “I thought that…”

“Are you insane?!?” Masters bellowed.

“Yeah, what are you thinking, Carter?” Jack intoned, struggling not to laugh. “We can’t _kill_ Vernon.”   _Yet_.  “He’s an integral part of this operation.”  

\----------------------------------------------------

After filling Peggy in on their plan to use the gamma cannon to destroy Whitney Frost -- or at the very least the alien stuff inside her -- Jack, Daniel and Vernon walked her down to the lab where Dr. Samberly was tinkering with the device.

“This is ludicrous,” Peggy protested indignantly, glaring at the men.

“Have a little faith,” Jack chided. “My man Samberly can patch this thing right up.”

“I’m not referring to the cannon, and I have every ounce of faith in Dr. Samberly’s talent.”

The scientist preened at that.  “Hey, thanks, Carter.  Nice to hear that once in awhile.”  Daniel silenced him with a dour glare, and he went back to work.

“What I'm speaking about is this man,” she clarified, nodding in Vernon’s direction.  “I don't know about you, but I'm not in the habit of climbing into bed with snakes.”

“I couldn’t care less who you’re climbing into bed with,” Jack countered and didn't even try to resist the urge to look pointedly at Daniel as he did so.  

Carter ignored the ribbing, remaining absolutely focused on the cannon and their plan to stop Whitney Frost. “Let’s say this works.  We fix this device then Vernon stops Whitney Frost with it.  Then what?  How do you think his priorities will change?  He’ll be after us the very next second.”

“I know you’ll have a hard time believing this, Agent Carter,” Masters smugly informed her.  “But I have no interest in you.  I won't kill you because I don't have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peggy scowled.

Daniel turned to look at her.  “What he means is, we all have dirt on one another.”

“Bottom line is, if any one of you tries to take me down, I take you with me,” Vernon stated.  “The Council calls this particular situation a stalemate.  And the only way out of a stalemate is _together_.  I'm comfortable with that.”

Peggy turns to Daniel.  “Are you?”

Daniel looked uncomfortable for a moment.  “Our job is keeping people safe,” he said finally.  “If that means using Vernon to take down a lady who kills people with black space goop, that's what’s gotta happen.”

“What’s it gonna be, Carter?” Jack inquired.

“She’s a smart girl,” Vernon commented, looking pointedly at Jack.  “She’s gonna play ball.”  

Jack glanced sharply at Vernon and met the man’s overconfident gaze.  Masters’ eyes narrowed in speculation, and Jack turned away casually.  He couldn’t let his paranoid worrying about a Deidre interfere with his plans.

He imagined Dooley reprimanding him again.   _Keep your head in the game, son, or you risk losing it_.

Jack took a slow, steadying breath then let it out just as evenly.  He would not give Vernon Masters any more leverage than he already had.

Vernon’s patience snapped.  “When the hell are we gonna do this?” he asked gruffly.  “I’ve got Frost breathing down my neck about this thing.”

“Samberly?” Jack inquired.

“I need at least another hour.”

“That’s not going to fly,” Vernon frowned.  “She wanted it over an hour ago.”

Daniel turned to him, impatiently.  “Can’t you talk to her, buy us some more time?”

“She’s gonna want to hear that news in person.”

Jack straightened suddenly.  “I’ll go,” he volunteered, then noticing the others eyeing him incredulously, he grinned.  “What?  It wouldn't be the first time I sold a load of bull to a lady.”  He winked at Daniel.

\----------------------------------------------------

Within 20 minutes, Jack was being escorted into a room at Joe Manfredi’s “waste management facility,” as he had dubbed it, to face Whitney Frost herself.

She recognized him at once.

Jack gave her a charming smile.  “We met at your husband's fundraiser.  Jack Thompson.”

She gave him an appreciative once-over and smiled coyly.  “Yes….so Vernon sent you to deliver the weapon, hmm?”

Jack made note that she wasn’t one to beat around the bush.  “Not exactly.”

“So, he sent you to deliver bad news? Wise man, Vernon.”

Jack shrugged.  “Well, actually I volunteered.”

Whitney smiled again.  “Brave.”

“Stupid,” Manfredi interjected icily.  He wasn’t blind to Whitney’s blatant flirting.

Jack grinned.  “A little of both,” he said lightly.  “Hard to pass up an opportunity to spend time with _The_ Whitney Frost.  Even if it's in a dump.”

“Waste management facility,” Manfredi snapped back, his hackles raised.

“Joseph, relax,” Whitney coaxed, though it came out more like an order not to be ignored.

“Yeah, Joseph,” Jack couldn’t help but poke at the man.  “Relax.”

Manfredi, infuriated, got in Jack’s face.  “Do you know what I do to guys like you?”

Whitney rolled her eyes.  “Hardly the time for this, Joseph.”  She gave him a steely look that finally got through the lug’s thick skull.  They stared at each other briefly before Manfredi, remembering Whitney and her new powers weren’t something to mess with….at least for now...dutifully backed down.

“You know what?  I'm hungry,” he announced casually.  “I'm gonna go grab some supper and then I’m gonna head home.  You can deal with this guy yourself.”

Whitney agreed, eager to be left alone with the handsome agent.  When the door closed behind Manfredi and his men, she turned back to Jack.

“He means well,” she said dismissively.

“Of course he does.  He’s just jealous,” Jack replied with a cocky air.  “I would be, too…”

Whitney cut him off.  “Where’s my cannon, Chief Thompson?”

“It's at the SSR, undergoing repairs.  I'm here to buy a little more time to finish up. Vernon insists on having it up and running before we deliver it.”

“To impress me.”

Jack nearly grinned but held it in check.  Phase Two of his plan was about to begin.  “To ruin you,” he corrected, bluntly.  “He plans to use the gamma cannon on you, to put things back the way they were.   But….I have another idea.”  

“Do you.”

“I deliver the cannon to you along with Vernon Masters, to do with as you please,” he explained, his blood beginning to thump in his veins.  The visions he kept having about his revenge were getting more vivid.

Whitney considered him again, looking impressed at Jack’s willingness to commit such treachery against one of his own.  “So this is why you volunteered to come here today.  You want Vernon’s job.”

“No.  I want more,” he told her, selling his very soul to the task of convincing her.  “I want a seat on the Council.”

Whitney smiled, and the chill in it almost made Jack shiver.  “Why, Mr. Thompson,” she nearly purred at him.  “I think we could manage that.”

\------------------------------------------

Another twenty minutes later, Jack was back at the SSR, outside in a truck, awaiting the arrival of the final piece needed to complete the gamma device.  He’d already taken things into his own hands with Samberly to ensure his ultimate goal was achieved, and so far no one else was a the wiser to what that truly was.

 _Two birds, one stone,_ he figured. _Well…three, but that couldn't be helped, especially since that one seemed happily roosting with the others._

“She bought it,” Peggy said skeptically, interrupting his plotting.  

“She wasn’t happy about it,” he retorted.  “But my blood’s still on the inside, so yes, she bought it.”

“Which makes me think you're up to something.”

Jack frowned.  Carter was a damned intuitive nuisance.  “Don't worry about what I'm up to.”

Vernon arrived at the delivery truck, cutting off any further interrogation Peggy might have had in mind.  “You must have quite the silver tongue, Jack.  I’ve gotta be honest, I didn’t think you’d get out of there alive.”

“I thought you learned not to underestimate me, Vernon,” Jack said with a pointed look.

Dr. Samberly ambled out of the building and walked up to the group.  He produced a large metal device, cradling it between his hands like it was delicate china.  “Just like you wanted.  This is the gamma core,” he explained.  “I cannot stress this enough...handle with _extreme caution_.  Got it?”

Jack gingerly took the gamma core from Samberly and secured it inside the truck.

They were ready to go and Jack was becoming increasingly antsy.  “Who's doing the Honors?”

Vernon stepped forward, much to Jack’s approval.  “I will.  It seems only right.”

“Red button’s the trigger,” Samberly directed, pointing to the various portions of the cannon.  “That's the business end.  Stay out of the line of fire if you don't want to incinerate yourself,” he warned.

“Be careful,” Peggy couldn’t help but add.  Everything about this exchange had her nerves on edge.  “Zero matter doesn't tend to listen to silver tongues.”

“All right.  Enough hand-holding,” Vernon said gruffly.

Jack grinned.  “You heard the man.”  

Vernon hopped up into the driver’s seat while Carter and Sousa walked to Daniel’s car.  Jack gave them one final solemn stare as the truck started to drive away.  Daniel was about to be mighty pissed at him for what Jack did to his fuel line, but he couldn't afford to have the good agents mucking up his perfectly brilliant revenge.  

He grabbed his hand-held radio and flipped it completely off just as he heard Carter’s enraged voice crackle through the speaker.

“Sorry, Carter,” he murmured low enough so Vernon couldn't hear.  “I started this.  I'll finish it.”  He glanced up and glared at the man ahead of him.

\---------------------------------------------

Jack had no illusions about Whitney Frost nor did he feel any qualms about what his plan involving her entailed, but he couldn't help but admire her advantageous, no-nonsense approach to the situation and, bless her little psychotic heart, she’d played right into his trap as well.  

She’d neatly yanked the rug out from under Vernon Masters and had him on his knees in no time flat after they’d carted in the gamma cannon.  All the better, in Jack’s estimation, for he knew Carter and Sousa would have quickly found another mode of transportation and be hurrying after him.  They likely knew about the bomb, too, he guessed.  Samberly didn't strike him as the keenest secret-keeper.  So, time wasn't to be wasted.

“Oh, Jackie, I didn’t think you had it in you,” Vernon lamented after his betrayal.

“You have no idea what I have in me, Vernon,” Jack spat back.  “As far as I’m concerned you deserve everything you’re gonna get.”  He walked up and bent over to glare into the man’s eyes.  “You betrayed me first, remember?  Scrambling my brains with that damned concoction of Samberly’s.  Threatening me.  Threatening Deidre.”  Vernon validated his theory by paling visably at the mention of her name. Jack mocked his stunned expression.  “Yeah, somehow little fragments of what you said stayed locked up tight in here,” he said, tapping his temple with one finger.

Masters scowled. “Then I hope you remember what I warned you about, Jack.  I’ve seen --”

Jack’s hand shot out and covered Vernon’s mouth with a hard slap.  Coming nearly nose to nose, he spoke quite softly but his eyes were menacing.  “I’m done with your lies.  I’m done doing anything you want me to do.”  He pressed further, bending Vernon’s neck to a painful angle.  “Now, I have one last order for you:  rot in hell.”

Jack angrily shoved away from Vernon, nearly toppling the man over with the force.  He walked backward with even steps until Whitney came into his peripheral vision.  “I’m done.”

“You're making a big mistake, Jack,” Vernon parried, but looking more frightened than before.

Jack scoffed and borrowed something Carter had said to him when he’d said the same thing to her.  It seemed ironically fitting.  “I've made plenty, Vernon. This isn't one of them.”

Despite the futility of the situation, Vernon couldn’t seem to stop trying to persuade him.  “There's still a way to fix this.  You and I can both walk out of this.  We wouldn't have to answer to anybody.”

“Oh, please,” Whitney sniffed, dismissively. “Don't fib.  All you do all day long is answer to men more powerful than you.”

“You can't trust her, Jack.  You know that.”

He was right about that at least.  And, Jack could admit, the man _had_ helped him advance, in his own crooked way.  “I owe you a lot, Vernon.  You've been like a second father to me.  I want you to know I appreciate everything you've done for me.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Vernon sneered.

“The biggest lesson I've learned is never let a good opportunity pass you by.”

“You're doing that now!” Masters cried.

“Sorry it has to end like this.” Jack smiled at how easily the lie flowed out.

“Do you want to do the honors, Chief Thompson?” Whitney asked.

“No.  From what I hear, your way is a lot cleaner.”

“Don't do this, Jack” Vernon pleaded.

“Let me know when you've gotten what you need from Wilkes,” Jack told Whitney then smiled suggestively.  “We have a lot to talk about.”

Whitney simpered.  “I'm very much looking forward to it.”

Jack walked out, listening with victorious satisfaction as Vernon shouted after him.

Once clear, Jack made a beeline for the back door and readied the remote trigger, prepared to blow the place to perdition. Beyond ready to be rid of Vernon and end the monstrosities that Frost and Wilkes had become, Jack depressed the trigger.

Nothing happened.  Jack scowled at the detonator and pressed the button again.  And again, no explosion.  In an instant, he knew.  It was like a recurring nightmare.  One person had somehow sidelined his revenge, and he knew without a doubt who that one person was.

“Carter.”

Jack sprinted away.  He had to find the damn nuisance and get the trigger operational again before it was too late.

\----------------------------------------------------

Jack spotted Sousa with Dr. Samberly on the outskirts of the property and picked up his pace.  Carter was nowhere in sight, but Jack was convinced she’d be mucking up his plans further if he didn’t stop her soon.

“Jack, what the hell are you doing?!” Daniel yelled.

Jack was focused on Samberly and the makeshift jamming device on the car hood in front of him.  “Turn it on. Turn it on now!” he demanded.

Daniel refused to be ignored.  “You want us to trust you, then you pull this crap?”

Jack glared at him.  “This isn't about trust. This is about making the hard choices.”

“By killing an innocent person?”  Carter seemed to reappear in the clearing as if by magic dust.

Jack felt an immediate and overwhelming urge to throttle her.  “Not one person in there is innocent!” he pointed out vehemently.

“Jason Wilkes is,” Peggy argued.

 _Oh, just dandy_.  Carter and her crush on the good doctor-turned-villain was impeding his quest for justice?   _This is why women -- and pathetic bleeding-heart saps like Daniel Sousa - didn’t belong in the SSR_ , he told himself.   _Their damned feelings prevented them from executing the necessary evils this job sometimes entailed_.  “I'm doing what needs to be done, what the two of you won't do.”

“Murder three people?” Peggy asked with an accusatory glower.

 _For fuck’s sake._   He didn’t have time for this bickering.  “Vernon would've killed all of us the first chance he got!”

“Vernon Masters should be brought to justice. Isn't that our job? Or is the SSR no longer in that business?”

“Well, it doesn't matter now,” he said smugly.  “Whitney's taking care of him as we speak, with or without the bomb, and nobody is gonna shed a tear if we blow Whitney Frost to kingdom come.”

“And how does killing Wilkes fit into your moral prevarication?”

“Because he's more dangerous than all of them put together!” he raged.  Utterly frustrated with Carter’s infuriating tenacity, he rounded on Dr. Samberly.  “Samberly, whatever you did to the detonator, undo it,” he commanded.

“Jack, forget about it,” Daniel tried to reason.  “This is over.”

 _The hell it is._  Jack whipped out his pistol and trained it on the quaking scientist whose arms reflexively shot into the air in surrender.  “Fix it,” Jack growled.

“No!” Daniel and Peggy shouted as one.

Dr. Samberly, however, valuing his skin over his job, wisely flipped the switch that turned the frequency jammer off.  “Fixed.”

Behind him, Jack heard another pistol being cocked.  He turned and found Carter aiming her gun at him, her face grim with determination.  “Put it down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my fellow Agent Carter fan, Frannie, for her keen eye and helpful suggestions!


	6. When All Is Said and Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The agents, along with Howard Stark, Jarvis and Dr. Wilkes, are forced to beat Whitney Frost at her own game before she creates a new rift and gains more of the powerful Zero Matter. Meanwhile, trying to balance his work and private life, Jack finds that trying to contact Dee is a lot harder than he thought it would be.

Jack was one hundred and fifty percent done dealing with Peggy’s obstinance.  He glanced dismissively at her and her gun.  "You're gonna shoot me, Carter?"  
  
"Listen to her, Jack," Daniel warned.  
  
"You won't. You can't," Jack said with a cocky air. "You don't have it in you."  
  
Peggy managed to look even more determined than before.  "There was a time when that was true," she allowed, but shook her head slightly.  "Not anymore.  Put the detonator down, Jack."  
  
She certainly had moxy, Jack admitted, feeling a modicum of respect.  But he couldn't and wouldn't let her sway him this time.  He was willing to bet she wouldn't pull the trigger, and even if she did, she wouldn't shoot to kill.  It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to deal with a gunshot wound, and it most likely wouldn't be the last.    
  
"Sorry, Carter," he said, cocking his head in a minute gesture of apology. "Gotta do it."    
  
He lifted his thumb, preparing to press the detonator, but before he could, a blast of energy hit and sent him sprawling. When he sat up, Jack saw it had leveled everyone.  Rattled and confused, he checked the detonator still clutched in his fist.  He glanced sharply at Peggy, who was eyeing him critically as she picked herself off the ground.  
  
"Wasn't me," he said, holding up the remote for her to see. "It's still armed."  
  
"So, what the hell just happened?" Daniel groaned as he sat up.  He, too, looked to Peggy.  
  
"I don't know," she answered crossly.  "But we are all going to find out."  She gave the three men a look that dared them to defy her.  Wisely, none of them did.  
  
  
\--------------------------------------------   
  
Brushing themselves off as they went, the agents hurried into the building.  Jack promptly guided them to where he'd left Vernon and Whitney Frost.  He stopped short just inside the doorway and stared at the disarray they found.  
  
The entire room looked as if it had been bombed, minus the usual smoke and fire of an actual explosion.  It made no sense to anyone.  
  
Carter realized the danger immediately and warned the others.  "Watch your step," she cautioned. "There's Zero Matter on the floor."  
  
Daniel nodded and quickly surveyed the rest of the room.  "I see some here, too."  
  
"Whatever went off, it definitely wasn't the gamma cannon," said Samberly, removing debris from around the device. "It's still here and in pretty good shape, too."  
  
Jack felt his nerves tighten as he continued to search the room.  "Any sign of Vernon?" he asked tersely.  
  
 _Damn it, if that bastard had somehow managed to escape..._  
  
Daniel glanced up, alert to Jack’s grave tone, and saw the raw hatred in his eyes.  "Could be anywhere in this mess," he said carefully.  
  
The sound of coughing came from one side of the room.  Jack and Daniel tensed, ready to train their weapons if it was Vernon or Whitney.  Instead, Peggy found Jason Wilkes lying beneath a shallow layer of debris.  
  
"Jason!" she cried, happy to find that her friend hadn't perished in the blast.  She moved to help him up, but Wilkes waved her off.  
  
"Peggy, it's not safe," he cautioned, sounding more panicked than relieved. "I'm..."  
  
"I think you're all right," Peggy said firmly, helping him up regardless of any perceived threat. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Weak...sore. I'm... The Zero Matter. It...it's gone. I couldn't hold it anymore."  
  
"It seems you've expelled it," she said. "Can you move?"  
  
Daniel spotted movement on the floor...in several places all at once.  The Zero Matter was rolling en masse, all in the same direction.  His intuition nagged him. This was not good.  "Peggy? Something's happening," he said nervously.  
  
Peggy turned to him.  "What is it?"   
  
Daniel finally spotted where the Zero Matter was collecting.  It was near a pile of heaving debris.  "We got a problem."  
  
Whitney Frost stood up and, ignoring everyone around her, spread out her hands in a welcoming gesture to the Zero Matter.  The alien goo flowed up from the floor, absorbed back into Whitney's body via her outstretched hands.  When it was all contained, she sighed in contentment.  "There," she smiled, pleasantly but death was in her eyes.  "Everything is where it belongs."  
  
Daniel trained his gun on her, ready to stop her, but Peggy touched his shoulder.  "Don't bother," she said flatly. "Those won't stop her."  
  
Jack's gut tightened as he realized that all of them needed to get as far away from the newly infected Whitney Frost or they'd all meet a grisly end.  There was no more time left to search for Vernon, if he was still alive.  "We have to move," he growled.  "Now!"  
  
Peggy supported Wilkes and they all scurried out of the room, heading for the nearest exit.  Whitney, feeling the overwhelming power and the Zero Matter thrumming in her being once again, followed somewhat casually after them.  It was disconcerting to say the least that she seemed fully confident they could not escape her.   
  
Jack's anger and panic rose to a new height as upon bursting outside of the building, he couldn't find their only means of escape.  "Where the hell's the car?!" he shouted.  
  
"Where the hell is Samberly?" Peggy asked.  
  
Daniel huffed as he tried to keep up with the hurried pace of the others. "That's the $64 question," he replied ruefully.  
  
Jack ground his teeth together.  "No offense, Sousa," he grumbled, "but next time I see that guy, I'm gonna kill him!  
  
Daniel nodded, sharing the sentiment.  "Just pick a direction and run!" he shouted.  
  
Whitney thrust open the door and stalked out after them.  Her eyes were gleaming with malice.  "You can run if you want, but why bother?!  I know where you're going, and it's only a matter of time until I find you. You honestly thought that I..."  
  
Her tirade was abruptly cut short as a bright yellow car rammed into her, throwing her body several feet in the air.  She skidded to a halt on the gravel a few yards from the grill of Howard Stark's car.  
  
Howard and Jarvis, leaned out the window.  Howard was aghast.  "Jarvis, you just hit a woman with my car!  
  
Jarvis didn't seem the least perturbed about it.  "I know, sir."  
  
"She's a two-time Oscar nominee."  
  
Jarvis's lip thinned into a frown.  "Miss Frost is quite resilient," he said, knowing whatever injury he'd managed to cause her wouldn't stop her for long.  After he'd gone off seeking his revenge against Whitney for shooting his wife, he'd managed to shoot her point-blank three times.  One minute later, she'd gotten back up, fully healed.  "She's fine," he informed his employer. "Trust me."  
  
Suddenly, Samberly drove up to them, honking the horn.  "Sorry!" he apologized meekly.  "Got turned around!"  
  
Jarvis knew they didn't have much time before Whitney would spring to her feet and come after them all again.  "Everybody in the cars, please!" he announced, firmly.  "Quickly now!"  
  
Everyone was quick to follow his order, and, once fully occupied, both cars sped off.  They needed to regroup and rethink their plans before they could confront her again.

 

  
 

\----------------------------------------

Jack quietly excused himself from the group after Peggy and Daniel return from their recon mission at Manfredi’s where Whitney Frost had set up her makeshift office full of crazy drawings and miles long equations.  He still couldn't believe they were working in cahoots with the likes of Joseph Manfredi, but since he and Howard were pals from back in the day, the SSR agents had formed a temporary alliance with the mobster.  Their goals were oddly similar:  stop Whitney Frost.  Jack’s private addendum: _at all cost_.

 

While the rest regrouped and began brainstorming ideas how to beat Whitney by building the rift creator, or whatever they ended up calling it, Jack went to Daniel's office and made a long overdue call to Agent Flynn, his second in command at the New York office, to see how things were rolling along in his absence.

As usual, Flynn was on top of everything.  He gave updates on the top three cases the office was handling, shared a few items of personal interest and ended with a joke about how his ass was wearing a new groove in Jack's desk chair from prolonged use.

 

Jack huffed at that.  “Yeah?  Well, don't get too comfortable, Johnny Boy.  If everything goes well, I should be back within the week.”

“Well, don't hurry back on my account,” Flynn quipped. “This office is running as smooth as vermouth under my watch, Jackie Boy.”

 

“Within the week, Flynn,” Jack repeated sternly, not able to stop a menacing vision of Vernon from infiltrating his mind at Flynn’s usage of the irritating nickname.  Jack gritted his teeth.  “I’ll check back in a few days.”

“You got it, Chief,” Flynn replied then chuckled.  “Hey, don't forget to bring me souvenir.  Maybe you can bring back one of those tanned California beach bunnies.  Remember, I prefer blondes.”

The line went dead on an audible click before Jack could manage a proper retort.  He placed the receiver back on the cradle with an incredulous shake of his head.  His thoughts went back to the pretty little blonde he had met briefly at Chadwick’s party.  Flynn preferred blondes, did he?  Well, he could have that one.  Deidre's gorgeous features quickly overpowered the blonde’s in a heartbeat.  In the next, he had the phone back in his hand.  It was time to make another long overdue call.

He rang up the local operator and, with a quick glance at his watch, requested to be connected to the Top Hat Lounge.  

 

A man's voice soon answered, confirming he’d gotten through to the right place.  “Top Hat.  You got Jeffrey.  How can I help you?”

Ah, the bartender.  “I’d like to talk to Deidre Wells if she’s available.”

“She ain't here, buddy.  Sorry.”

“Wait!” Jack commanded quickly before the man could hang up on him.  He glanced at his watch again.  Dee should have been at work by now. “Do you know when she’ll be in?”

Silence greeted him on the other end of the line, long enough to make Jack wonder if he’d been too late, but then the other man cleared his throat.  “She’s not coming in tonight.  Boss said he’s got another dame taking her place.”

Jack frowned deeply.  “He fired her?”

“Don’t think so,” Jeffrey replied, sounding fairly confident.  “Probably just called in sick or something.”  

“Do you happen to have her home number?”

There was another long pause, then he spoke again.  “She don’t want me handing that out, bud.  A lot of creepers in this town, no offense.  But,” he continued, “If you give me your name and number, I'll let her know you called.”

Jack squeezed the receiver until it it creaked.  “Tell her Jack called.  I'll call again tomorrow.”

“Okay, bud.  I'll let her know next I see her.”

He thanked the man and pressed the button on the telephone’s cradle to end the call.  He immediately rung up the operator again, asking to be connected to Dee's home number.

After a brief silence, the woman reported back that she had no Deidre Wells listed.

“Try...uh, Zydeco Wells?”

“Zydeco?” the woman wondered out loud, then probably realizing she’d done so, cleared her throat nervously.  “Yes, sir.  One moment.”  Jack heard pages flipping then the woman came back to say, “No, I'm sorry.  Nothing under that name either.  Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” Jack said slowly. “Thanks.”

He slid the receiver back into the cradle, distracted by his thoughts.  She wasn't listed?  He had no way to contact her.  No address, no phone number…  He paced to the window and stared out at the darkening landscape.  “She’s fine,” he muttered stubbornly to his reflection in the window.

 

\----------------------------------------

Frustrated with himself and his incessant pointless worrying, he swung around abruptly and went to find the others.  He needed something to keep his mind busy.  He might not have the technical knowledge to assist Howard, Samberly and Wilkes, but there had to be something he could do.

He found the lab where the team was busy at work, as he’d expected them to be.  He swung open the door and stepped in.

“Okay, look, I'm not a scientist,” he said, looking around the room until his gaze rested on Peggy.  “But I'm here to help.”

Peggy glanced sideways at Jarvis and shared a conspiratorial look with the lanky butler.  “How about collecting the dinner orders?” she suggested with a smug twist of her lips.

Jack felt the challenge hit his pride like a kick to the groin, raised a finger to deliver a biting retort but quickly bit his tongue instead, remembering his need for something to do.  In any case, he knew Peggy had him by the short-hairs at the moment in terms of leverage.  Insults wouldn't help him in the long run.

“You know what, Marge?” he asked, switching tact in the moment.  “I’m gonna do that for you.”  With a levity that visibly shocked those who knew him well enough, he embraced his task and asked, “What do you guys want? Got to be good takeout someplace in this city.”

He soon found himself back in Daniel's office, relaying the dinner orders to the deli clerk on the other end of the phone conversation.

“Four corned beef on rye, uh, two egg salad on white, and...ugh...one pickled-herring salad.”  He chuckled at Samberly’s odd request.  The man apparently thrived on indigestion.  When the clerk asked if someone would be by to pick up the order, he confirmed.  “Uh, yeah. Yeah, someone will come pick it up. Thank you. Thanks.”

As he’d been speaking, a collection of Vernon’s belongings had caught his eye. After hanging up the phone, he rummaged through the various items and plucked up a small silver pin.  “What'd you leave behind, Vernon?” he wondered.

He followed a hunch and twisted the base.  Two thin prongs emerged from one side, forming  what looked to be a key of some sort.  He contemplated his discovery for a few moments, weighing the decision to share this new development with Sousa and Carter or not.

Much to his consternation, Jack had begun to mull over the possibility that he’d have to pay the piper for colluding with Vernon Masters and all the other missteps he’d taken along that path.  She had enough dirt on him to get him kicked out of office if she so chose.  He‘d certainly given her enough incentive to want to see him fail.

He sighed heavily, grabbed the keys to Vernon’s car and headed out to pick up the take-out orders.

 

\-------------------------------------

Wilkes, Stark and Samberly made quick work of constructing the rift generator, as Peggy had dubbed it.  It was running now, much to Jack’s amazement.  If it worked the way they hoped, Whitney should be drawn to the zero matter energy and the gamma cannon would neutralize her…or, vaporize her.  

Jack smirked to himself as he contemplated that.  He and Peggy were waiting together at the eastern lookout spot, and his nerves were less steady than he wanted them to be.

“You sure she's coming?” he asked.

“She'll come,” Peggy replied stoically.  “I know it in my gut.”

“And what's your gut telling you about me?” he risked asking.  Peggy swiveled to look at him, puzzled.  “I'm just wondering how quick I'm gonna have to clean out my office once we get back to New York,” he clarified.  

“What are you talking about?”

“You turning me in for siding with Vernon.”

“What?” she said with a dismissive laugh.  “I'm not doing that.”

It was Jack’s turn to be confused. “I've been riding you since you took this case, and you're telling me you're just gonna let it slide?” he challenged her.

Peggy shrugged.  “Well, I wouldn't say that.  I did threaten to shoot you,” she reminded him dryly.

“Yeah.  I remember,” he chuckled, allowing himself to relax a little.

“It's not your fault entirely,” Peggy went on. “Vernon Masters saw your boundless ambition and took advantage of it.”

She’d pegged him so succinctly, it stung a little.  “Don't get so sentimental,” he deadpanned, covering his discomfort with cockiness.  “I might cry.”

Peggy eyed him steadily.  “You're a good man, Jack.  I know that.”

As a gesture of appreciation, Jack decided to share his newest discovery with her.  “I have something for you,” he said, digging out the pin from his pocket and presenting it to her. “I found this in Vernon's briefcase.”

“The Arena Club pin,” she replied. “I've seen them before.”

Jack hummed in confirmation as he twisted the pins base.  He handed it to her. “It's also a key.”

Peggy examined it carefully. “A key to what?”

Jack shrugged.  “Guess we'll just have to figure that out.”  He glanced at her briefly, then voiced something that had been niggling at him all night.  “You weren't really gonna shoot me, were you, Peggy?”  As she opened her mouth, looking as though she were going to answer in the affirmative, he hastily cut her off.  “Just...forget it. I don't want to know.”

Any smug response she might have had to that was abruptly overridden by a man’s scream.  Jack and Peggy jumped at the sound.

“Was that Samberly?” Jack asked.

Peggy tried to reach him using the radio, but received no answer.  She inquired about his whereabouts, but Daniel answered,  “No, but I got eyes on Whitney Frost heading towards the rift. Everybody mobilize!”

Whitney walked right into their trap.  Disabling her with the gamma cannon was ridiculously easy, given her obsession with the rift and her desire for more power.  As the gamma ray hit her, the Zero Matter was discharged from her body and hastily absorbed back into the rip in the sky.

In a flash, Jack was by her side, hiking her to her feet as she screamed at the loss of the alien power.  “Hey, look at that. Your face is fixed,” Jack sneered as he wrenched her hands behind her back.  “You'll look real pretty in prison.”

 

\-----------------------------------

The danger wasn't completely neutralized, Jack realized as he returned from depositing a deranged Whitney in the back of Vernon’s car.  The rift generator controller was malfunctioning and the rift was still hovering above them, gathering momentum by the second.  Without the controller and with the gamma cannon recharging, the only option was for someone to enter the “danger zone” near the generator and shut the contraption down using the manual override.  It equated to a suicide mission, as anyone in the danger zone would most likely get sucked into the unknown of the rift.

“I'll do it,” Peggy offered first.

Howard shook his head.  “Nope. I built it... badly, as it turns out. It's my responsibility.”

“No, let me,” Wilkes interjected. “I was sent back the first time. There's a chance it'll happen again.”

Jack took a deep breath and volunteered.  “Wouldn't be the first suicide mission I've come back from.”

Howard’s attention was captured by movement near the edge of the danger zone.  “Well, that's not fair.”

As everyone turned to see what he was talking about, Jack’s stomach clenched. Daniel had side-stepped the martyr’s pow-pow.  He was tying a makeshift tether around his waist, preparing to hobble to the generator himself.  

“Daniel, get back here!” Peggy yelled.

“Keep working on a way to shut it down,” Daniel shouted back.  “If you figure it out, I'll bail.”

Daniel managed to limp his way close enough to grasp the override crank on the side of the device.  However, the small amount of hope that generated was quickly whisked away.  Nothing was happening.

Peggy couldn’t take eyes off of him as she struggled not to pace.  “Is there nothing we can do?

Howard frowned.  “I'm thinking.”

“How long until the gamma cannon's charged?”

“Twenty more minutes, at least.  It doesn't have enough energy to fire."

”Peggy’s mind raced.  “Could we detonate it inside the rift?”

"Samberly took the explosives out.”

Jarvis startled them all by racing off without explanation.  “Back in a jiffy!” he called as he ran.“Look!” Wilkes shouted, pointing at the rocks and debris that were suddenly floating up.  Daniel himself was soon swept upward, his grip on the crank tenuous at best.  His tether swayed and pulled at the light pole to which it was tied.  Daniel grunted and struggled to maintain his grip but the rift was becoming larger and more powerful.

Jack watched, as helpless as the rest of them.

“Daniel, hold on!” Peggy cried.  

The tether suddenly unraveled, and Daniel shouted in fear as the powerful pull of the rift threatened to tear him away from his world.

Peggy shoved Howard out of her way as she dove for the loose end of the tether.  She stood up, gripping the hose and grunting at the exertion it took to hold her ground.

Howard rallied the others and raced over to his friend.  He grabbed her from behind and pulled with all his might.  “I got you, Peg!”

Jack grabbed Howard around the waist and felt Wilkes arms encircle his own midsection.  The train of struggling men pulled with Peggy against the suction of the rift that threatened to pull them all into its void.

Daniel, upside-down and tiring from his struggle to hold onto the crank, tried to wave them away.  “Peggy, let go!” he pleaded.

“No, Daniel, hold on!”

The sound of screeching tires and a honking horn cut through the noise of the whirlwind.  Jarvis had returned with Howard’s car, a flustered Samberly in tow.

“Hey, he's not supposed to be in there!” Samberly exclaimed as the two men ran toward the group.

“Jarvis, what the hell are you doing?!” Howard yelled.

“The gamma cannon can't fire, but it could be detonated inside the rift, correct?!” the butler inquired quickly.

“And how are we supposed to do that?!”

“Well, it would entail destroying your hover car, if you don't mind!”

The implication of that sank in quickly, and Howard hastily instructed Samberly to retrieve the gamma cannon core and place it in the back seat.  As the scientist hurried to do so, Jarvis stuffed his handkerchief as far into the gasoline tube as possible.  When he saw that Samberly had completed his mission, he lit the handkerchief on fire and rushed to press the switch that activated the hover car capability.

“Stand back!” he warned the others as the car rose, hovered above them for an agonizing few seconds before getting sucked into the rift.

A large blast illuminated the core of the rift opening.  With a loud whoosh, the rift closed and Daniel suddenly plummeted to the ground.  With the sudden relief on the tether, Peggy, Howard, Jack and Wilkes sprawled backward onto the ground.

Jack pushed himself up onto his elbow and felt a wave of relief to see Daniel heaving himself up on his own.  Samberly walked over as Jack stood up and started brushing himself off.   

“I thought you were dead,” Jack said lightly.

“I didn't faint,” Samberly stated, none too convincingly.  “I...did faint,” he admitted sheepishly.

Jack gave him a reassuring clap on the back then looked up at the space where the rift had been.  Happily, he saw only the blue California sky.  He patted Samberly’s back again, a most unlikely brother in arms, and let out a long, relieved breath. The rift was gone. Whitney Frost was no longer a threat. They’d all survived.

The Isodyne case was done.  

But Jack knew he still had one last thing to do:  he had to find Dee, make sure she was okay.   _Then_ he could say goodbye, get back to New York, and life could finally go back to normal.   Jack huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.  

_Yeah. Keep telling yourself, pal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another HUGE shout out to my fellow Agent Carter fan and constant morale support, Frannie! Thank you, sweetie! This would be so much harder without you!!


	7. The Trouble with Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all have no idea how much I treasure having an editor and friend like Frannie!! Thank you so, SO much for your eye, your insight and your motivation! This process would be much harder without you!

**Chapter 7:  The Trouble With Goodbye**

 

“Jack!  Where are you going?”  Daniel’s voice reverberated down the hallway at Howard’s mansion where the group had gathered that evening for a celebratory dinner.  

About an hour after dessert had been passed around, Jack couldn’t stop fidgeting.  As everyone transitioned to the parlor to continue the festivities, he had sought to quietly slip out and head to the Top Hat.  It was time to check in with Dee, he told himself, to make sure all was well then he could put all of his ridiculously paranoid worrying to rest and say goodbye.  Apparently, however, his stealth mode was on the fritz.  

With a roll of his eyes, Jack stopped and turned around.  “I'm heading back to the hotel.”  Truth.  “I’m exhausted.” Again, truth.  Just not of the whole variety.

Daniel accepted that excuse, but skeptically.  “You okay?  You’ve been on edge all night.”

Jack nearly groaned.  He was really losing it if Daniel was reading him like an open book now.  “Just tired, Sousa,” he insisted, then seeing that Daniel wasn’t convinced, decided to offer up a sliver of the genuine truth.  “And...I do have a few loose ends I need to tie up before I go back to New York.”

Daniel’s eyes sharpened. “Vernon?”

Jack held Daniel’s gaze for a long moment, drawing in the man’s curiosity as well as his judgement in equal measure.  “In a manner of speaking,” he replied evenly.

For a moment Daniel looked as though he was about to launch into a well-deserved reprimand about all that had transpired between them and Peggy because of Vernon’s toxic influence, but instead Daniel’s demeanor unexpectedly shifted into something more neutral and he merely nodded. “Okay.” He hesitated a moment longer, looking as if he were searching for something else to say.  When he didn't actually speak, Jack flicked a light salute at him, turned around and started walking again.

“Jack?”

With barely refrained impatience, Jack turned back.  “Yeah?”

Daniel’s lips quirked.  “Thank you…for sending Peggy,” he clarified when Jack’s brow furrowed in askance.

The tension in Jack’s shoulders eased slightly.  “Yeah.  You owe me big, buddy,” he replied smugly, but he couldn't hold back an accompanying smile which Daniel returned in kind.  “Now, get back in there and enjoy it while it lasts.”

It was advice Jack intended to follow himself.  He nodded his farewell to Daniel and hurried out before anyone else could delay him.

  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After a quick stop back in his hotel room to change clothes and tidy his hair, Jack bounded down the stairs and into the Top Hat with more anticipation than he’d felt in a long time.  He was certain he’d find Deidre up on the stage, shining like a gem in the spotlight.  He was wrong.  The dame on stage was blonde and dingy compared to Dee’s brilliance.  He stopped short when he realized she apparently still hadn't shown up for work.

Jack walked quickly to the bar where Jeffrey was pouring a combination of liquors into a shaker.  The bartender looked up to acknowledge the new arrival.  The man’s welcoming smile dimmed when he recognized Jack.

“She’s not here,” he announced flatly.

Jack scowled.  “I can see that,” he said tightly.  “Did she say why?”

“I wouldn't know,” the bartender shrugged.  “Mr. Langston took the call.”

The club owner, Jack recalled.  “Is he here?”

Jeffrey shook his head.  “Not tonight.  You want _his_ number?”

Jack gave the man a warning look but let the smartass remark slide.  “When was the last time you saw her?”

Jeffrey handed the drink he’d been preparing to an expectant patron then walked over to face Jack directly.  “A couple days ago,” he answered with a shrug, then leaned heavily on the bar.  “You know, she’s probably just faking bad...you know ‘women's problems’,” he said in a low voice.  “They do that sometimes.  You know, my sister once used that ---”

“Do you have Dee’s number?  Her address?”  Jack clenched his jaw, trying not to let his worry spiral into higher gear.

Jeffrey rolled his eyes.  “Look, pal, I told you before.  She don't want me giving out that kind of information to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who wants it, and I don't blame her.”

Jack felt his patience quiver at its breaking point.  He leaned closer and said, “She might be in danger.”  When Jeffrey looked ready to dismiss him as a loon, Jack grabbed his badge out of his coat pocket and presented it.  “I’m with the SSR,” he ground out, satisfied when he saw that the man understood the authority that went with it.  “I have reason to believe she might be in danger,” he repeated, succinctly.  “I can get the information from my office if I have to, but that will take too long.  I need to get in touch with her _now."_

Jeffrey contemplated the badge again then the intense expression on Jack’s face.  With a resigned sigh, he turned and grabbed a napkin and a pen from the back counter.  He hesitated briefly after he returned, giving Jack a hard look, then hastily scribbled down a phone number and address.  At Jack’s request, he added directions as well.

“You better be on the level, bud,” Jeffrey warned as he finished writing and handed the napkin over.

Jack nodded, acknowledging the threat, and hurried back to his room where he immediately grabbed the phone off the bedside table.  He contacted an operator, recited the phone number and waited.  He clenched the receiver painfully when the woman reported back that the line wouldn't connect at the moment.

Jack hung up and dropped down heavily on the bed.   _Shit_.  He glanced at his watch.  8:15.  It was late, extremely late for a visit, but at this point he didn't care about social etiquette.  He was going to drive to her house anyway and figure out what was going on.

 _God damn it, Masters.  What did you do?_  With that thought fueling him, he raced back outside to where he’d parked Vernon’s car and sped away, dreading the answer to that question.

  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

The address scribbled on the napkin turned out to be a small Spanish style house in a sketchier neighborhood than he’d expected to find, though the homes surrounding it seemed well cared for and maintained.  It reminded him more of the blocks of smaller homes in the Brooklyn neighborhood where Daniel grew up.

He entered into the little walled courtyard on his way to the front door.  There, much to his surprise, he discovered a small black motorcycle parked in the back corner.  That gave him pause.  Was she entertaining someone else?  The idea rankled him more than he’d like to admit.  But, his need to make sure she was all right was greater than the absurd emotions swirling around inside him at the moment.

The porch light near the side of the door flipped on suddenly, making him jump and reach for his gun.

“Eddie, darling?” He heard Dee’s voice call out loudly.  “Did you bring in the mail this afternoon?”

Relief flooded through him at the sound of her voice, but her words stopped him short.   _Eddie_?  So she _did_ have another guy in there with her. _Darling_?   _A boyfriend?  Husband?_  His stomach clenched, and he hated it.  He immediately quelled any further speculation.  Dee’s life was Dee’s life, and in the grand scheme of things, he was just a blip on her radar screen as much as she was on his.  In any case, he reasoned, he knew she was okay now.  Another case closed.  Reluctantly, Jack turned on his heel and walked away, trying his best to ignore the growing burn of disappointment in his chest.  

He’d just walked into the concealing shadow of the tall courtyard gate when he heard the front door open.  Despite telling himself to just keep walking, he couldn't resist turning to peer around the corner.  He’d get one last look, make absolutely sure she hadn't been hurt, then be on his way.

Dee stepped out, notably whole and unblemished by any violence, and opened up the little black mailbox hanging to the right of the doorway.  She plucked out a small pile of mail and idly flipped through the items, humming softly as she did so.  When her humming evolved into singing, Jack recognized it as the Sinatra song she’d sung the night they met, his favorite.  

He slumped against the bricks of the threshold as his heart did a weird twist in his chest.  Guilt and resignation were unpleasant emotions he tended to avoid.  But this time, he didn’t fight them.  Regardless of anything else, the fact remained that he’d enjoyed talking to her, laughing at her stories.  She’d helped him relax, and he was thankful -- for all of it.  The least he could do was tell her that and give her a proper goodbye.

Dee was flipping through a magazine when he stepped into the lighted courtyard once more and called her name.   She jumped and skittered backward with a cry of alarm.  The pile of mail in her hands went flying.

“Sorry!” he grimaced, rushing forward.  He extended a halting hand when her fists flew up in a fighting stance.  “I’m sorry!  It’s just me.”

She slapped a hand over her heart.   “Jack?” she huffed, her eyes wide with shock.  “What are you doing here?”

“Your bartender friend gave me your address,” he explained as he squatted and began  gathering up her mail.  “Don't be too mad at him,” he added quickly when he saw her eyes spark with anger.  “I flashed my badge, told him it was official business.”  He gave her a sheepish look as he stood.  “Which it sort of is.”

Dee took a deep, steadying breath as Jack handed her the mail.  “Official business,” she echoed.  She promptly and unceremoniously tossed the pile into the house behind her.  When she turned back to him, her eyes were hard.  She planted both hands on her hips and cocked her head.  “Okay then.  Explain.”

Jack’s brows rose in tandem at her no-nonsense tone.  Gone was the flirty, light-hearted southern belle he was used to dealing with.  Oddly, she looked more like she was readying herself for a fight.  Wondering at that, he cleared his throat and calmly did as she directed.  “I stopped by to check on you.  Jeffrey said you’d been out for a couple days.  He wasn’t sure why.”

Dee lifted her chin, one eyebrow arched, her message clear:   _Go on._

“I tried to call, but the operator said the line wasn’t responding,” he continued, feeling more and more like a mother hen but finding it impossible to shut himself up. The truth just bubbled out of him in fits and bursts.  “I was worried that you’d been -- In my line of work...sometimes people we associate with get...hurt.”  He scratched nervously behind his ear.

Dee’s whole body relaxed as she contemplated that.  “You were worried that I’d been _hurt_?  Because of you?”  She tilted her head and studied him carefully.  “Why in the world would you think that?”

Annoyed by his inability to fully explain, he stuffed his hands in his pockets.  “Like I said, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.  I couldn’t go back to New York without knowing that.”  Dee went very still at his words, but Jack kept on track.  His expression hardened as he recalled that she wasn't home alone.  “And, now that I know,” he continued stiffly, “I won’t hold you up any longer.  You should probably get back to your boyfriend before he starts---”

“Boyfriend?”

“Husband, then?” he pressed.

“ _Husband_!?”

Jack pointed at the house as she frowned, deeply confused.  “Eddie?” he expounded, sounding far more exasperated and defensive than he’d intended.  Her feigned ignorance pricked at his temper.  “I heard you talking to him before you came outside.”

Dee studied him for a few moments then her face cleared as his assumption suddenly became clear.  A tiny laugh escaped her lips before she could stifle it.  “Oh, no...Jack,” she sighed.  “That’s my roommate.”

“You _live_ with a man?”

“I most certainly do not!” she exclaimed, indignantly.

“But you just said he’s your roommate.”

“Jack!  You don't--” Partly amused, partly exasperated, she groaned and rolled her eyes heavenward.  Folding her arms across her chest, she called loudly into the house.  “Eddie?  Would you come here please?  There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Dee’s fingers drummed along her upper arms as they waited.  Jack refused to break eye contact with her, though the increasing discomfort he felt was tempting him to turn and walk away.  This conversation was crazy.  Awkward embarrassment, indignation, abject confusion -- he felt them all in varying degrees.  The last time he remembered struggling like this was when he’d last seen his father and was informed that his aimlessness was to be remedied with a position inside the SSR.

When Dee’s roommate finally entered the foyer, Jack’s confusion grew.  Instead of the tall, burly figure he’d envisioned might belong to the motorbike in the courtyard, Eddie turned out to be a pale, slim woman with a bluntly-cropped mass of straight black hair and black horn-rimmed glasses that looked two sizes too big for her face.  A measuring tape hung around her neck and a long pencil poked out from its nesting place behind her ear.  She smiled expectantly at the visitor.

“Jack, this is _Edna_ Modello.” Dee’s expression turned a bit smug as she watched him process that information.  “She prefers to be called _Eddie_.”  She then turned to Edna and said, “Eddie, this is Jack Thompson.”

“Hello,” she said in a faintly nasal voice.  Then she gasped and swung her gaze back to Deidre.  “Oh!  The Navy fella you met at work?”

“That’s him.”

“Oh!  Well! It's so nice to meet you, Jack!”  She extended her hand.

Jack shook it, feeling stupidly relieved.  “Same here.”

Dee walked up, placed an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and jiggled her lightly.  “Eddie, sweetheart?” she began sweetly.  “Jack is here, late at night, in our courtyard, scaring the stuffing out of me because he couldn't call me, because _somebody_ insists on taking the phone off the hook when they work, and because that same somebody doesn't put it _back_ when they’re done,” she scolded, giving Eddie’s shoulders a punctuating squeeze.

Eddie gasped and her hands flew up to her mouth.  “Oh!”  She looked up at Dee, clearly distressed.  “I forgot to hang it up again, didn't I?”  She turned to Jack, her eyes wide with embarrassment. “I'm so sorry.  I'll go hang it up right now.”

She turned to rush back in the house but swung back.  “I really am sorry,” she said, effusively.  “Still, it was nice to meet you, Jack.  You know,” she added hastily. “It’s nice that Dee finally found a decent fella.  That job of hers is a magnet for some real creeps.”

“Eddie!” Dee exclaimed, sounding alarmed.

“Well, it is, darling!” Eddie retorted innocently.  “She’s been all smiles and giggles for the last couple of weeks,” she informed Jack in a very matter-of-fact tone. “It’s nice to see her so happy.”

Dee stood aghast for a moment, then abruptly clicked her own jaw shut.  “I do not _giggle_ ,” Dee refuted, indignantly, and swatted her roommate back toward the house. “Now, get outta here and go hang up that phone!”  Her cheeks were flushed when she turned back and found a very amused Jack staring back at her.  “Land’s sakes, that was--”

“‘All smiles and giggles’?” he cut in with a self-satisfied grin.  He couldn’t help but tease her a little now that the tension and confusion between them had been diffused.  “Really?”

Dee huffed, completely frazzled.  “No. No!” she protested in an extremely disgruntled manner that Jack found oddly arousing.  She shoved the curls away from her forehead and stood staring at him, still mortified.  “I - That’s not how I…” she fumbled, then finally dropped her hands and growled in abject frustration.

Jack’s grin only widened as she glowered at him.

"Stop enjoying this, damn you!” she half-accused, half chuckled and stepped forward, intending to slap at his shoulder.

On impulse, Jack lunged, curled an arm around her waist and pulled her close.  He registered the shock in her eyes, heard the tiny gasp that escaped her lips, and felt his self-control shatter.  His customary finesse all but evaporated as his mouth descended upon hers in a desperate kiss.  

He felt utterly undone.  Everything he’d endured these last few weeks, riding on the release of all his worry for her, overrode all logic.  He needed this, needed _her_ like this, just once.  The memory of it would be his own brand of souvenir.  As her arms slid acceptingly around his shoulders, he almost groaned in relief.  He’d half expected a shove followed by a sharp slap across the face.  Instead, she drew him deeper into the embrace.

Eventually though, as rational thought regained some semblance of control, Jack gently broke away and leaned his forehead against hers.  They stood like that for a long while, catching their breath, still reeling from the unexpected assault to their senses.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that,” he murmured, though his tone was far from regretful.  

“Yes, quite ungentlemanly of you,” she agreed primly.  But he heard the smile in her voice and grinned.

Finally, after several quiet moments had passed, Dee eased away enough to look at him.  “So, now that you got that out of your system,” she said carefully, “mind telling me what’s actually going on?”

 _Out of my system?_  He nearly snorted at the irony _._ If anything, he’d just opened Pandora's Box where she was concerned. His mind and body were still buzzing.  But the skepticism in her eyes curbed any contradiction.

“Was I truly in danger, Jack?”

“It was a vague threat.”

Dee frowned at that.  “From whom?”

Jack’s jaw tensed.  “Vernon Masters.  Do you remember him?”

She blinked hard and stepped back.  “That man who came looking for you at the club.  Your ‘uncle’?”  When Jack nodded, Dee’s lips twisted.  “Well, he wasn’t exactly subtle about his distaste,” she went on, put off by the mere memory of the weasel's beady eyes staring her down.  “But, he _threatened_ me?” She tilted her head at him.  “He caught you talking to me _one time,_ and my life was on suddenly on the line? I’m not a threat to anyone!  What in the world --”

“Hey, I know,” Jack replied evenly, gently rubbing her shoulder.  “I know.  It doesn’t make much sense.  We think he threatened you in order to distract me, so he could...”  He caught himself from disclosing too much about their confrontation.  Frowning, he paced away from her, began again.  “I had him cornered, and he said -- at least I have these recollections of things he said about you -- it’s a long story that I can't go into,” he interjected when she tried to ask what he meant.  “As you can imagine, the things he said weren’t complimentary.”

“Color me shocked by that revelation,” she grumbled but quickly turned serious.  “So?  Is he still a threat?”

“He’s been taken care of,” he said, but that niggling doubt about Vernon’s potential survival pricked at his conscience.

Dee didn’t look convinced either, but she reached out to take his hand.  “You said you couldn’t go back to New York until you knew I was safe.”  She took a deep breath.  “When do you go back?”  

Jack pressed his lips together before answering. “Couple days maybe.  The case I was here for is nearly closed.  Just a bunch of paperwork left to finalize.”

Dee nodded and squeezed his hand. “Well, hey, one less bad guy out there soiling up the world.  That’s good, isn’t it?” she asked, forcing a smile.  “Congratulations.”

Jack inclined his head.  “Thanks.”

Silence enveloped them again.  Dee, of course, couldn't bear it for long.  She saw no point in wallowing.  They both knew this was going to happen.  So, with a deep breath, she prepared to say goodbye.

Jack cut her off before she could speak.  His impulse control was still going haywire, and his plans changed in a heartbeat.

“Dee, before I go,” he began, haltingly.  He straightened, collected himself and started again with much more charm and bravado.  “Before I go, I’d like to take you out for dinner.  Or lunch, or coffee...I’m not sure what would work with your schedule,” he explained when she gave him a questioning look.  “To thank you, for...everything --”

“Oh,” Dee breathed, surprised at the offer.

“Or we could just drive around,” he plowed on.  “You could show me some of the sights.”  He started to feel awkward again -- what was it about her anyway? He was usually so suave in situations like this -- and shoved his hands in his pockets.   _Boy, if Sousa could see me now, he’d be laughing his ass off._

Dee tried hard not to get too excited.  Wasn't this just going to make saying goodbye that much harder?  “Don’t you have friends at the office you’d rather spend the remainder of your time with?” she inquired.  “I mean, from what I gathered from our earlier talks, it didn't seem like you planned to be coming back ‘round here, not for a long time at least.”

Jack huffed, ruefully.  “The agents I know here…I’m not sure if ‘friends’ quite covers it.”  He thought of Peggy and Daniel...hell, even Samberly and quirky little Rose.  After everything they’d been through these last few days...well, they landed squarely in the realm of “almost, but not quite” in his estimation.  “It’s…complicated,” he concluded with a shrug.

Dee gave him a hard look.  “Okay, Captain Cryptic,” she countered, and managed to wrangle another smile out of them both.  As she was apt to do, she found a silver lining to gild the situation.  “Well, their loss would be my gain, I suspect,” she said thoughtfully. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“I could pick you up in the afternoon, and you could guide us around town until we want to stop for dinner somewhere?  Drinks and dancing afterward?”

Dee looked impressed.  “Well now…aren’t I the lucky gal?” she teased.  And then it hit her, what was going on.  She’d had plenty of “dates” like this during the war when she’d been granted shore leave, enjoying the company of amiable men for however long shore leave lasted, then parting amicably when the long whistle blew.  She assumed Jack had done the same during his years of service.  He must be viewing their little rendezvous in the same light.

 _Well, it is what is_ , she told herself sternly.   _So, honey, why don't you just say yes and enjoy this while it lasts?_ She worried her bottle lip as she contemplated that.

“What do you say, Dee?  Make a day of it with me?”

She made a face as though she were considering turning him down then broke into a sunny smile.  “I say that sounds like a fabulous opportunity for a rare bit of fun, Mr. Thompson.  And, if life has taught me anything, it’s to never let a perfectly good opportunity go to waste.”

“I know _exactly_ what you mean.”  Jack smiled, remembering he’d tossed that same sentiment at Vernon a few nights before he’d left the man to his fate.  

The memory unfortunately also brought back his concern that no one was quite certain what had actually become of Masters after Dr. Wilkes had expelled the Dark Matter.  There had been no sign of him in that decimated room when the SSR team had come to investigate.  They hadn’t had time to search in the mad rush to escape an enraged Whitney Frost.   It was more than likely that Vernon had been consumed by the alien goo, but Jack couldn’t completely dismiss the feeling that he’d managed to escape either.

 _Oh, Atlas_ … Dee thought sadly as she watched the change in his eyes.  That accursed dark cloud had fallen over him again, and she wished she knew what caused it.  He’d looked so confident and satisfied with himself not a few seconds earlier.  “What is it?” she ventured again, wondering if he might open up a little and tell her this time.

Jack refocused instantly and plastered on a grin.  “Nothing,” he said quickly, then amended that with, “I was just thinking about where we should start.”

Dee sensed the lie but had no idea what to do about it.  Instead, she stepped forward and took both of his hands in hers.  “I can help with that,” she replied.  “And I’ve got an idea.  How about _I_ pick _you_ up at your hotel, and we can start our little adventure together right in the thick of things?  As you can see, I live a ways out from the more interesting sections of Los Angeles.  It’d make more sense for me to come to you...that is, if you don’t mind a woman in the driver’s seat?”  There was a playful note of challenge in the question.

“Uh...no,” he replied, slowly.  It was a bald-faced lie, but upon quick consideration, he conceded that she did know her way around better than he did.  And, he reminded himself, if she turned out to be a maniac behind the wheel, he had the jurisdiction to commandeer the vehicle.  He was the Chief of a federal law enforcement agency, after all.

He gave her hands a light squeeze.  “That would be fine.”  He glanced dubiously at the motorbike behind them.  “On that?”

“Nope, that’s Eddie’s,” she informed him, blithely.  “My car’s in the garage.  I don't use it much, but I can dust it off for a special occasion.”  She grinned widely at him.  “Shall I come get you in the morning instead?  So we have plenty of time to see everything?”

“Nine o’clock?” he suggested, quickly embracing the idea.

Dee nodded. “Nine o’clock.  What’s your room number?”

“Two-oh-eight.  But I can just meet you out front.”

“I suppose that would be the more _proper_ way of doing things.  Can’t set the maids gossiping, now can we?”  She gave him another cheeky grin which coaxed out another chuckle from him.  She was such an odd duck.

He agreed, then raised one of her hands to his lips in a chaste gesture of farewell.  “I’ll see you in the morning then,” he said with a wink then turned to go.  He was almost to the car when he heard Dee call his name and turned to face her.

“Be sure to adequately spiff yourself up,” she called to him from the gateway. “Might as well do it up right.” She caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she grinned coquettishly.

“Duly noted,” he called back with a jaunty two-fingered salute.  

She returned the salute in kind then watched as he got into his car and, with one last farewell wave, drove away.  She stood for several moments afterward, leaning on the post of the gateway, a stupid blissful smile on her lips, until she could no longer see his tail lights then turned to head back into the house.

She gasped and jumped in alarm when she spotted another man in the threshold of her front door, leaning indolently against the doorframe as if he hadn’t a care in the world.  He was no stranger either.  Andre LeBeau was an old family friend and a sort of self-appointed guardian to Dee and her younger brother Gabriel after an auto accident claimed the lives of their parents just before the war began.  He was also a high-ranking member within the Cuban mafia, headed by Nardo Corrales.  

Corrales’ gang had moved from New Orleans to Los Angeles in 1942 hoping to profit from the booming entertainment industry and, more covertly, the black market and under-the-table deals to be had with some of the shadier sectors of the government.  Her brother had followed Andre and tried to remain useful despite his penchant for overindulging in gambling and liquor.  Gabriel’s misdemeanors were usually the catalyst for Andre’s unannounced visits, and Dee automatically steeled herself for more bad news.

Andre took a long pull on his cigarette before flicking the butt onto the patio floor.  His unblinking eyes narrowed as he idly blew smoke from his thin lips.  “Making new friends, Deidre?” he mused.

“Andre,” Dee addressed him coolly, trying to calm her skittering nerves.  She hoped to God he hadn’t overheard too much of her conversation with Jack.  “What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he casually tossed back at her.  “Shouldn't you be at work tonight?”

“Sick day,” she claimed, tacking on a sarcastic smile to the blatant lie.

“Aw, _pauvre bête_ ,” he crooned in gritty Cajun as he shoved himself away from the door and walked slowly to her.  “Your new friend...he had a magic cure, _non_?  You seem to be feeling better.”  He gave her a scolding look.  “Mr. Langston was getting very, very concerned for your well-being when I stopped by this earlier today.”

Dee laid her arms akimbo over her chest, frowning fiercely.  “Mr. Langston is a pig,” she replied hotly.

Andre clicked his tongue at that, rolling his his eyes for effect. “Oh lá lá,” he sighed.  “What did he do this time?”

Dee’s skin crawled at the memory of her last interaction with her employer.  Cornered in her dressing room.  The rank, sour smell of Langston’s breath assaulting her nose as his hands got closer and closer to assaulting more private areas of her body.  Not at liberty to defend herself properly without opening an decidedly more dangerous can of worms.  She’d been saved by the band leader knocking on the door, wanting to discuss a new lineup of songs with her.

Her silence was telling.  Andre cocked his head, inquiringly.  With a firm but gentle touch, he placed a finger under her chin and lifted it, examining her face closely.  “At least he didn't mark up the merchandise.”  His lips twisted in a resigned expression.  “I will remind him who he is dealing with when he sets his sights on you.  That should help.”

Deidre yanked herself away from his touch. “I'm nobody's merchandise,” she seethed, not in in the least placated by Andre’s promise.  “And I _am_ allowed days off,” she said, petulantly.

Andre looked non-plussed.  “You realize that just drags things out, don't you, _chére_?  That job pays a pauper’s wage as it is.”  He spat in disgust then grunted.  “If you will remember, you were given other more profitable options of paying off your brother’s debt.”

Dee curled her lip disdainfully.  “And if _you_ will remember, I told you I will never pose for those shameful magazines Nardo publishes nor will I steal drugs for them.”

Andre’s gaze swept over her, lingering briefly on her chest before rising to meet her eyes once more.  He smiled, revealing crooked yellowed teeth.  “A very silly decision,” he said simply.  “With a body like yours you could make a lot more cash, help pay off the debt so much quicker.”

“I’ve got less than a hundred to go,” she reminded him.  “Shouldn’t take much longer.”

A dark glint entered Andre’s eyes.  “Ah, yes.  That would be true...except…”  He let the sentence dangle between them and watched as Dee’s confidence slipped.  

“What now?” she asked weakly.

“Your brother, _chére_.” He shook his head slowly in exhausted sympathy. “Nardo’s men, they know he cannot resist the gambling tables, that he desperately believes he can win back the money he owes. They egg him on.”  Andre let out a unsympathetic grunt.  “I swear, that boy has the rottenest luck I ever seen,” he added with a smooth sweep of his hand.  He shrugged as he confirmed what Dee already knew was coming.  “There is more debt.”

Dee’s shoulders slumped as Andre’s words hung heavily in the air.  She took a few steps back until she was able to lean on the gateway for support.  All the happy contentment she’d just experienced with Jack bled out as she tried not to panic.

She swallowed hard.  “How -- how much more?”

“He was nearing three hundred and fifty when I cut him off.”

Dee’s hands speared through her hair as angry tears pricked her eyes.  “ _Three hundred and fifty_?  My God!” she cried. Her mind filled with a mixture of curses and questions. How dare they tempt her brother further into ruin?  How much did that extra debt extend their service?  Would they even be willing to extend it?  Why would they show mercy to...  She’d paced away, but turned back suddenly to squint at him.  “Wait… did you say _you_ cut him off?”

“I did.”

“You helped him,” she stated as if that were impossible.

“That was too steep for me to ignore.”

“Why?  You despise Gabe.”

Andre’s expression slipped for a moment as they stared at each other.  “I did it out of respect for Armand.  And, every misstep he makes drags _you_ down, too, darlin’.  I grow tired of watching your struggle.”  When Dee merely blinked, rendered speechless by the uncharacteristic tenderness in his voice, he cleared his throat and resumed a more detached air.  “But mostly for Armand.  May he rest in peace never knowing what a worthless embarrassment of a son Gabriel turned out to be.”

Refuting that insult floated through her mind.  Gabe was sick and needed help, but Dee was still too stunned to argue.  She let it go, and returned to more pressing thoughts about the new problem she now faced.

“Does the agreement we have with Nardo still hold in light of this...new debt?”

Andre made a sound of confirmation.  “It does, yes.  I made sure of it.  He did not approve of how it was done, but the debt remains.  He will continue to garner payment as long as you both behave.  Not so bad, eh?  Now,” he said, turning his head and tapping his cheek.  “How about you come over here and give old Andre a little sugar for his trouble?  C’mon now.  I won’t bite.”  His laughter was rough and phlegmy, a side effect he earned from years of smoking.

Dee dutifully stepped up to him and pecked the middle of his cheekbone.  “Thank you for looking out for him, Andre.”  She swallowed the bitter gall rising in the back of her mouth as she thought about her brother.  “Don’t know where we’d be without you.”

Andre huffed, unimpressed by her flattery.  “ _I_ do, but I’ll be a gen’elman and spare you the visual,” he replied flatly.

Dee’s lip twisted, ruefully.  “And I thank you for that as well.”

“And, speaking of gentlemen, who was that fella you were farewelling when I got here?” He eyed her suspiciously.  “Nardo still trying to turn you into one of his call girls?”

Dee shook her head quickly  “No. He’s...just a friend,” she hedged, airily.  “An old Navy pal I happened to bump into at the club.”  She paused to gauge Andre’s expression.  It was far from appeased.

“Sounded to me like you two were makin’ plans to meet up tomorrow,” he responded evenly.  “What about work?”

Dee straightened.  “One more day isn't going to make a hill of beans difference at this point, will it?” Her eyes were hopeful.  “Please, Andre.  He’s a sweet man who doesn't know anything beyond the fact that I’m a lounge singer.  He’s going back to New York in a couple of days, and that will be the end of it.  I swear.”

Her guardian studied her for a long moment, as if listening to two voices in his head giving opposing advice.  At last, he sighed.  “Girlie, do you know how lucky you are to have me in your corner?”

Dee held her breath.

Finally, with a defeated _bah_ , he waved her off.  “I will deal with Langston, as I said.  One day more, but then no more of these ‘sick days’ of yours...for a while at least.”

Dee’s smile was genuine as she hugged him.  “My guardian angel.”

Andre snorted at that.  “ _Á peine_ , _ma belle_. Hardly that,” he lightly scoffed. “We leave that to your father and do the best we damned sinners can here on Earth, no?”  He patted her cheek and turned to go.  As he left the courtyard, he wagged a finger above his head and gave a final warning. “Make that ‘pal’ of yours treat you right.  He has no idea the kind of hell he will pay if he don’t.”

“No,” Dee agreed quietly as Andre disappeared into the night. “He doesn't.”  And she intended to keep it that way.


	8. On The Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dee and Jack take an educational romp around the City of Angels, exploring the sites and learning a few interesting tidbits about each other. What happens when the sun goes down? Read on!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frannie, my dear, you are the BEST!! Thank you for your assistance, your opinions, keen eye, and your never ending support!!

 

****The next morning Jack found himself still wondering what the hell he had done last night. Despite hours of telling himself to let it go, here he was still mulling over what had possessed him to ask Deidre on a date instead of just taking his leave of her like he’d planned.

It wasn't as if this type of social interaction was a strange occurrence in his life, he reminded himself as he squeezed paste onto his toothbrush then began to scrub.  He’d done this plenty of times while in the Navy.  Time off the boat, enjoying drinks, dancing and, if a fella was lucky, necking with any dame willing to do so.  But then the whistle would blow, the dame would get one last kiss and off he’d run.  He couldn't even remember the names of any of those girls.  But how in the world do you forget a woman named _Zydeco_?

He stabbed his toothbrush at his reflection in the mirror.  “It’s _shore leave,_ you sap,” he chastised through a mouthful of toothpaste foam.  He spit into the sink, rinsed his mouth then grabbed a hand towel.  “She knows what it is, and so do you.  So eat, drink and be merry, pal, for tomorrow you return to reality.”  

The phone rang just as he was finishing up.  He looked at the clock as he walked over to pick up the receiver, noticing that it was a good fifteen minutes before nine o’clock.  

“You’re early,” he answered jauntily.  There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, then he heard Peggy Carter’s voice.   

“Good morning, Chief.”  She sounded a little taken aback by his informal phone etiquette.  “I wanted to let you know that our flight back to New York has been booked for tomorrow.  We’re due for departure at one o’clock, flight 906.  Shall I send your ticket to the hotel or will you be joining us at the office today?”

“Send it here,” he told her swiftly, mentally kicking himself for his gaffe.  “I, uh, I’ve got other plans for the day.”

“Other plans?” Peggy questioned, incredulously.  “Taking in the sights before you leave?”

“Yeah.  You inspired me to take a vacation day,” he tossed back.  “I figured you and Sousa have all the Isodyne paperwork fairly wrapped up.  Nobody needs me hovering around.  Might as well see the city, take in a show or something.”

Peggy hummed thoughtfully.  “Yes, we’re nearly done with the final report.”  There was a long pause before she spoke again.  “I trust all went well with your other business last night?  Daniel said you were wrapping something up concerning Vernon Masters.”

Jack cleared his throat.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I was able to tie that up pretty quickly.  Nothing to worry about, Marge.”

He heard her sigh at his exasperating nickname for her.  “Very well then.  Enjoy tooling about town.  Stay out of trouble, and I’ll see you tomorrow at the airport.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack responded dryly.  “Hey!  Tell Daniel good-bye for me, will you?”

“Certainly.”

He hung up the phone, wondering idly if Sousa was going to man up and try to get Carter to stay in Los Angeles before they ended up three thousand miles away from each other again.  The dummy was so deep in love with that woman it was getting painful to watch, even for him.  Added to that, it seemed Carter might finally be reciprocating.  Not that it was any of his business, and he had better things to do.  Peggy and Daniel were on their own.

He finished getting dressed and shrugged on his suit coat.  After one final check in the mirror, he headed out the door, ready to have a little fun, finally.  A day of shore leave was just what he needed before heading back into the fray of life in the SSR.   

\---------------------------

 

He exited the hotel and almost immediately heard Deidre off to his right, calling to him.  

“Good morning, Jack!”

He turned to reply in kind but the sight of her stalled his breath.  He'd seen her in fancy eveningwear before, all glammed up for her performances at the club -- and she’d been a rare sight then -- but the [dress](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/07/03/f3/0703f327c933c6deef7361c0b7561e82.jpg) she’d chosen for their outing was stunning.  Thin braided straps held up an enticingly fitted bodice, and a large full skirt decorated with several large splashes of embroidered flowers swayed around her knees.  Her tanned skin and sunny countenance composed the perfect backdrop for it.

Dee smiled widely as she embraced him in a cordial hug.  “So?  Do I pass muster, Jack?” she queried as she stepped back to execute a graceful twirl.  When he didn't answer, she flushed and fiddled a bit with the skirt.  “I hope I'm not overdressed.  You see, Eddie made this for my birthday, and I’ve just been itching for the right opportunity to wear it.”

Jack shook his head, still feeling slightly hammered and more than a little aroused.  “Well, ‘adequately spiffed up’ was the directive after all.”  He shot her one of his trademark smiles.  “You look amazing.”

“Occasions special enough to wear this are few and far between,” she continued, that smile of his supercharging her nerves.  “But I figured, with this being your last day in Los Angeles, a case successfully closed, and absolutely perfect weather for going on the town… I’d say all of those rolled up together make for one _extra_ -special occasion, don't you think?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh!  I have something for you.” She opened her handbag and plucked out a small flower.  “A white carnation,” she explained as she deftly secured the bloom in his lapel.  “It’s a symbol of good luck and good health.”  She stepped back to inspect her handiwork and nodded, pleased.

Jack looked down at the flower then smiled awkwardly at her. It was the first time a woman had ever given _him_ flowers.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  Guilelessly, she linked her arm with his and guided him along the sidewalk past the front door of the Top Hat, eager to start their urban expedition.  “My car’s parked just down the street.”

They walked a short way until Dee let go of Jack’s arm to walk around the back of an oddly shaped white vehicle and opened the driver’s side door.  The design of the trunk space was the oddest thing he’d ever seen...in a car, anyway.  It reminded him of a duck’s bill as it arched extremely low from the hood to the back fender.  He’d never seen anything like it.  “ _This_ is your car?” he asked incredulously as he opened the passenger side door and got in.  “What is it?”

“A 1934 Chrysler Airflow,” Dee answered proudly.  “Daddy bought it for my mama as an anniversary gift.  Isn’t she lovely?”

Jack gave her a dubious look.  He wouldn’t use that term, exactly.

Dee smiled as she ran her hand over the top of the steering wheel.  The unique vehicle held a special place in her heart as it was one of only a few things she and Gabe had been able to save after her parents had died.  The majority of their possessions had been sold to pay off the mortgage on their parents’ house, Dee’s tuition and room and board for Gabe while she was away, serving on the _Solace_.

“You be nice to Lola now, you hear?” she countered when she saw his expression.  “She may be a little odd-looking but she’s reliable.”

Jack made a face.  “Lola?  You named your car?”

Dee started the engine and prepared to pull out.  “I didn’t.  My father did.”

“Do I dare ask why?”

Dee gave him an amused look.  “It was a joke between him and my mother.  You know how some folks name boats after people?  Well, since they weren’t likely to ever own a boat, why not a car?  So, when Daddy bought this, he named it after her -- this here is the Lola May.”

Jack didn’t know how to tactfully respond to that, so he just shook his head instead.  Apparently Dee’s odd-duck behavior was genetic.  

Dee pulled out of her parking spot and headed south toward their first destination.  “Are you ready for your whirlwind tour of L.A., Mr. Thompson?”

Jack relaxed into the seat and gestured ahead of them.  He was more than ready for a little fun and relaxation.  “Whirl away, Miss Wells.

\-------------------------------

  
  
A few hours later, after they’d stopped off at a few other spots in town, Deidre and Jack stood together at the base of the Hollywoodland sign.  Jack shaded his eyes to look up and over the length of the gargantuan letters as Dee answered his inquiry about how the infamous landmark had come to be.

“It was built as an advertisement for a segregated housing development up here in The Hills,” Dee remarked as she, too, shaded her eyes and gazed at the impressive expanse of letters.  “Pretty progressive, huh?”

“Why don’t they just tear it down?  It’s an eyesore.”

Dee hummed in agreement.  “There’s been talk about what to do with it.  Some want it torn down, but I guess a lot of folks now look at it as a symbol of Hollywood and the movie business and want to keep it.  Personally, I’d miss it if they took it down.  I just wish somebody would take better care of it.”

Jack pointed to the mangled letter H.  “What happened there?”

“Eddie said that sometime during the war the caretaker of this sign got straight up sauced and drove his car right off that cliff above the sign.”

“Dumbass,” Jack murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.

Deidre chuckled.  “Apparently he survived, but his car and the poor H were destroyed.  Somebody’s gotta do something about it soon, one way or the other.  Doesn’t make much sense leaving it to rot like this.”  She gazed at the sign for a while longer then sighed heavily and turned around to take in the vista of the city below instead.  “It truly is a beautiful sight from up here though, isn’t it?”

Jack turned to look as well.  It was impressive and quite idyllic, he’d grant that, but not as impressive as looking out at the gargantuan metropolis of New York City from the heights of the Empire State Building.  Three hundred and sixty degrees of glorious urban landscape could be found at the precipice of that skyscraper.  It thrilled him each time he went up there.  He smiled to himself.  Dee had to see that.  Some day she had to come to New York, and he’d show her.  He turned to share his thoughts, only to find her watching him with an amused grin.

“What?” he asked, wondering if he’d somehow spoken his thoughts out loud without realizing it.

“Just wondering about that smile.  They're so rare,” she teased, sidling up and gently elbowing him in the side.  “What were you thinking about?”

“Home,” he said simply.  

“Ah.”  Dee nodded, knowingly.  “The Big Apple.”  She took his proffered hand to steady herself on the uneven ground as they started walking back to the car.  “You got family there?”

“No.  My folks still live in Yarmouth, on the Cape in Massachusetts,” he said when she looked at him in askance.  “My brother Curtis lives near D.C. and Alice, my older sister, and her family are in the Chicago area.  Her husband’s some big muckity-muck for Marshall Field’s.”

“Who’s older, you or your brother?”

“I’m the youngest, but only by three hundred and fifty two days.”

“What?” Dee laughed in shock.  “I bet you were a big surprise then?”

“You could say that.  Irish twins, as they say,” Jack joked dryly.  

“Now wait a minute,” Dee pointed at him.  “If you’re the younger brother, why didn’t your parents saddle Curtis with being J.P. the Third?  Isn’t that usually supposed to be passed on to the first son?”

Jack shrugged.  “Curtis is my mother’s maiden name.  She and my grandfather, I think, were highly in favor of having that name be passed on in some way since he and my Gam --” Jack caught himself, “-- my _grandmother_ \-- only had girls.  My father didn’t put up much of a fight about it from what I’ve been told.”

“Oh,” Dee said and then it seemed like a lightbulb went on over her head.  She cocked her head inquisitively and glanced at Jack.  “Oooh,” she echoed, elongating the word in a very knowing tone.  “Your mama, she’s the Money in your family, huh?”

Jack stared at her astute deduction.  He’d never thought too much about it before, but Dee had certainly hit the nail right on the head.  “Yeah,” he managed finally.   “Though my father’s family isn’t poor by any means.”

Dee accepted that with a nod and began to drive down the curvy road that would take them back to the city.  They drove on in silence for a while before Jack turned to her.  “How about you?  Have you got any brothers or sisters?”

Dee’s jaw flexed.  “I have a younger brother,” she offered and left it at that.

Jack expected more, but when none came he prompted her again.  “Does he live here?”

“Yes.”

“Does he have a family?”

“No.”

Jack frowned at her continued brevity.  “You two don't get along or something?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you're unusually tight-lipped on the subject.”

She couldn't fault him for his curiosity, but what to say?  There was no easy way to explain their situation without tipping Jack off to their connection to Nardo’s gang.  She didn't want to taint his view of her that way.  “My brother...he and I…” she trailed off, giving Jack an apologetic grimace.  “It’s complicated,” she tacked on lamely.  “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

Jack frowned at the lack of information but nodded.  He was too familiar with that kind of familial tension to blame her for holding back.  “My brother and I have that sort of relationship,” he offered, congenially.  “I love him, but…”  He shook his head with an exasperated huff.  “We just rub each other the wrong way, constantly.”

Dee gave him a quick grateful smile but remained silent and focused on navigating them safely back into town.

“So, Miss Tour Guide,” Jack said, smoothly transitioning to a more comfortable topic, “what's the next stop?”

Dee’s shoulders relaxed when she realized that Jack was willing to let it go.  “I'm ready for some lunch.  How about you?

“Famished.”  He grinned.  “What did you have in mind?”

“I thought we could stop at this little hot dog place called Pink’s on our way to the tar pits.  Betty makes the best chili dogs in town,” she said emphatically. “How does that sound?”

“I'm game,” he replied.  “They’ve got coneys here, huh?”

“Coneys?”

“Yeah!  As in chili dogs from Nathan’s at Coney Island.  Coneys,” he repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  “You know, you really need to come to New York and get educated on the finer points of street cuisine.  I’ll bet they don't even have one decent place to get a pizza around here either.”

Dee laughed, more amused than offended.  “Nope, not that I know of anyway.  I wish we did though,” she added after making a tight turn on the serpentine hillside road.  “I’ve never had it, but it sounds delicious.”

Jack gaped her.  “You’ve _never_ had a pizza?  How is that possible?”

Dee wrinkled her nose at his incredulous comment.  “Oh stop.  You ever have gumbo?” she challenged.  “Jambalaya?   _Paella_?”  She mimicked his shocked expression when he shook his head.  “How is that possible?” she wailed, over-dramatically, then gave him a sassy grin.

Chuckling at her nuttiness, Jack conceded. “Okay, okay.  Point taken.”  God, he was going to miss her light-hearted bantering, the teasing grins, the easy camaraderie, basically everything essentially Deidre.  But, he dutifully reminded himself, that was life.  All good things come to an end.  “Regardless,” he said out loud, as much to himself as to her.  “You really should come to New York.  You’d love it.”

Her heart twisted with a keen desire.  “I know I would,” she said wistfully.  “I hope to, someday.  And, maybe,” she added playfully, “I'll have to find a friend to escort me about town to get a pile of coneys and all the best pizza New York has to offer.”  Her airy, optimistic tone disguised the cold disappointment that hung heavily on her heart.  She knew she wouldn't be able to afford a trip across the country any time soon, maybe not ever as long as she felt obligated to help her brother.  But, she wasn't about to cast a pall on the situation by bringing that up.  It was easier to agree and cultivate the imaginary itinerary.

Jack smiled, assured her he’d gladly take on the role, and talked about the places they could see and the various activities there were to do.  He pitched it well, and Dee agreed and commented here and there about some of the ideas.  The conversation kept them happily occupied all the way to Pink’s.

\-------------------------------

 

After they’d enjoy Miss Betty’s excellent chili dogs (even Jack had to admit they were a tasty west coast alternative to his beloved coneys), they strolled idly around the grounds of the La Brea tar pits, stopping every so often to read the plaques or comment about the park itself.  It was an odd place, huge prehistoric sludge ponds surrounded by the modernity of a growing city just outside its gates.  

When they made a full circuit around the park, Dee drove them by the Hollywood Bowl amphitheater where they listened to the orchestra practice for the evening's concert for awhile and then made a short stop at the Griffith Observatory to enjoy another panoramic view.  Finally, they ended up at Grauman’s Chinese Theater, strolling through the increasing collection of famous hand and footprints embedded in the concrete in front of it.

“Have you ever thought about auditioning for a movie musical?” Jack asked as he observed Judy Garland’s handprints.  “You know, I have an inside track.  I do happen to know one of the studio owners,” he added helpfully with a hint of a smile.

Dee looked up from Rita Hayworth’s imprint, surprised at the out-of-the-blue question.  “No, I’ve never thought anything of it.”  She shrugged as she went back to viewing the sidewalk.  “I'm not talented or pretty enough for the silver screen.”

Jack vehemently disagreed.  “Dee, you have a great voice,” he insisted.  “And you're just as pretty as any of these women.”  He turned in a slow circle, gesturing with outspread arms at the collection of famous actresses who had left their mark in the concrete.

Dee smiled at his flattery.  “Thank you, but I don't have such lofty aspirations.  I'll leave that to these ladies and the ones to come.”

Jack frowned.  “You want to sing at the Top Hat for the rest of your life?”  The idea didn't sit right with him.

“I'm where I need to be for now,” she answered somewhat stiffly as she continued to meander through the markings.  “I don't know what I'm going to do next, not yet anyway.”  She had no idea how long it would take to help Gabe get out of debt and back on his feet.  She certainly wasn't planning to stay employed at the club indefinitely.  Lord Almighty, just the idea of being stuck under the control of Langston and Corrales for the next few years gave her the willies. “What about you, Jack?” she asked before he could grill her any further about her future.  “You got any lofty aspirations in that job of yours?”

Jack quirked an eyebrow at that.  “I’ve got plenty of things on my to-do list,” he supplied wryly.  His “lofty aspirations” had brought him here and had gone up in flames...or rather it seemed, an explosion of black space goo…  He wondered again about Vernon Masters and his uncertain fate.

“Are you planning to head up the office one day or just keep hitting the pavement on assignments?”

Dee’s question interrupted his thoughts.  His head jerked up and over to her.  He’d forgotten that she still didn’t know that he was actually chief of the New York office.  She thought he was just a field agent, and she certainly wasn’t aware of his specific dealings with Vernon, all the promises Masters had made about getting him out of the SSR and into a more prestigious government position.  Jack certainly had chased that dream down the wrong path, but it didn’t mean it was impossible.

“I don’t know,” he hedged, giving her a nonchalant shrug.  Even though Carter had insinuated that she’d keep her mouth shut about what he’d done to discredit her, he still had to tread carefully for a while. “I guess I could also say I’m where I need to be…for now.”  He caught her eye and walked up to her.  The conversation was making him tense and so, given that the aim of their outing was to enjoy the time they had left together, he changed the subject.

Taking her hand, he asked, “I’m about ready for some dinner.  Are you?”

Dee nodded.  “Where would you like to go?”

Jack considered for a moment, then inspiration hit.  “Where’s the best place you’ve always wanted to go to, but just haven’t yet?  Sky’s the limit.”

Dee bit her lip at the sudden idea that sprang to mind.  “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.  You name it.”

She hemmed and hawed a little, unsure if the restaurant she was thinking about would be too extravagant.Jack saw her conflicted expression and squeezed her hand.  He tugged her close and draped a friendly arm around her shoulder.  Turning them both, he began to walk with her.

“I mean it, Dee,” he reassured.  “Think of the best, most shamelessly extravagant place you can think of.  I intend to eat well tonight.”  He grinned down at her.

“All right,” she countered.  It was like he’d read her mind.  “Embry’s Steakhouse.”  She grinned, self-satisfied with her choice.  “I’ve heard it’s absolutely decadent.  And it’s west of here, so it’s on our way to the ocean.”

“So we can walk off our bloated bellies afterward?” he bantered then hummed appreciatively.  “Steak, huh?  Good choice.”

Dee laughed at the visual as they walked in stride together back to the car.  Jack was such a darling.  The day was going more perfectly than she’d ever hoped.  They would soon part, she accepted that.  Jack would soon be gone, but at least she'd have the memory of this one beautiful day to cling to.  She could be content with that.

  
\-------------------------------

The man covertly watching them from across the street wasn’t as pleased.  He’d been tailing them from the very start, becoming more agitated and vexed with each shared look between Jack and Deidre.  Every smile, every laugh, every touch they shared added to his desperation.  

As he walked to his own car in order to tail them once again, a plan began to unfold in his mind about what he’d do next.  It was risky, yes, but it might just have the desired effect he was hoping for.  He just needed the right opportunity to put it into action.

 


End file.
